Stuck In Between
by Cassie's Neighbor
Summary: When her plane to New York City crashes, Annabeth Chase halts in a comatose and now stands at the brink between life, love, courage and death. PercyxAnnabeth. AU.
1. Stuck

**A/N: Hey there again, guys. So yeah, this idea had been floating in my mind for a long time now. I finally settled down in front of my laptop and typed it down. Please tell me if I did okay. And no, I am not abandoning 'Of Cuts And Pills' and 'The Quest For The Cestus Apple'. I am trying this arduous task called 'multitasking' and I hope I'll make it out alive.**

**Enjoy!**

**Warning: Characters might be OOC. Please tell me whether I did okay with the characterization or not. Would gladly revise for you.**

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><p><strong>Title: <strong>Stuck In Between

**Summary:** When her plane to New York City crashes, Annabeth Chase halts in a comatose and now stands at the brink between life, love, courage and death.

**Story Song Prompt:**Courage by Orianthi feat. Lacey

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><p><em>"True strength is keeping everything together when everyone expects you to fall apart." ~ Sarah Ockler<em>

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><p>~0~<p>

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 1 – The Beginning Of A New End**

**Chapter 1: Stuck**

"No, no, no. Don't you go anywhere, Thalia. Just stay with me," I say to my six-year-old niece, trying my best to win her attention against that clown selling juice boxes and cupcakes at the corner.

Thalia pouts. "But Annabeth! I want that fluffy thing with the chocolate icing!"

"It's called a cupcake," I sigh after she kicks me on the knee. "And no, you're not getting one."

She whines in that childlike voice of hers, and I do have to say that she sounds adorable. Adorably dangerous, as a matter of fact. It is much better if she goes all brutish on me because, if she did otherwise, she can surely snare even the Fuhrer's heart. She can be more or less like an angel if she wants to.

Much to my relief, I win this fight. I get little Thalia to behave in her seat while I wait for twenty-four minutes before we enter the plane.

"Annabeth," Thalia tugs on my sleeve as she points at the big smoothie a kid her age is holding. It may have sounded less ethical, but I taught her to call me by my first name. Auntie Annabeth and Aunt Annie are names I prefer not to be called.

She looks at the smoothie with such longing reflecting in her blue irises that I can do nothing but consent. I buy her a banana blitz flavored one and that gets her to shut up for the next ten minutes.

Thalia and I are flying from Detroit back to New York City – our favorite city in the world next to Seattle and Los Angeles. I happen to like the histories of all three cities; the number of rollerblade parks in each city makes Thalia all the more happy. We will be landing at JFK airport with a connecting bus trip to Thalia's drunkard but still capable mother, who is waiting for us back at Westchester. After I drop her off, I'll be settling in college with my job as a cashier in a fast food chain – it pays relatively well for my college expenses and that apartment my dad rented for me in the Upper East Side.

When it is announced that the tunnel is open, I take Thalia's hand and we surrender our tickets to the balding man at the counter. He seems to sneer as he peers at our tickets, and I discreetly roll my eyes. I'm sure it isn't in his job title to scoff at passengers with economy class tickets.

We board the plane together and Thalia claps her hands as if it is her first time to go, which is, of course, untrue. Thalia loves planes and flying as much as I do. It never ceases to amaze me how humans managed to invent a contraption for flying, how we are capable to make things real from our imagination... Though people might see more of the bad than the good, and there are times that even I feel like losing all of my faith in humanity. I figure that things can get better because, no matter how hard life may seem to be, we are versatile. Especially when Death tips the balance of all things; life seems to go on and be better than before.

Anyways, this is what I thought as I went inside the tunnel with Thalia beside me. I don't know how or why I am getting all these sentiments about life and death. I just feel this… stirring inside my stomach. And I can't pin point the exact emotion or whatever source… And I know that something might happen as I step on the plane and when I step away from it. Crazy, right?

I'm overanalyzing, I know.

The flight attendants greet us, all plastered with their half-hearted smiles. I do not try to smile back – trying to send them the right kind of sympathy. I know most of them would rather be lounging on their couches back home than waking up at two o' clock in the damn morning and be shrouded by old, loud, obnoxious couples squabbling about who gets to sit near the window.

I pull out my ticket to check our seats. It is slightly wrinkled but not as damaged as Thalia's – torn up and ragged at the edges. I walk down the aisles and find the place we were designated to. A girl about my age, or a few years older, smiles. I instruct Thalia to buckle up her seatbelt as I drag the baggage and stuff them in the upper compartment.

Thalia pokes the woman beside her then gains claim of the seat near the window. I try to hide the horror on my face as Thalia asks the lady in that unassailable tone of hers, but the lady only chuckles.

"Don't worry. She's a fighter. That I can see," she says to me when I tell Thalia to mind her manners.

I nod. "Thalia's a handful."

She watches as Thalia stares in awe at the workers loading the plane with cargo. "She reminds me of my little brother. I'm Bianca, by the way."

I shake hands. "Annabeth. And I'm guessing you already know Thalia."

Thalia turns to me. "Do you think mommy will be happy with those su… sube-"

"Souvenirs," I say. "You made that flower pot for her, right? Of course," I reassure her. "She'll like it."

A flight attendant –the senior flight attendant – announces an apology to the rest of the passengers for the delay and says that the plane will take off in a few minutes. The seatbelt marker then lights and I hear a seventy year old guy frolic up and down the place, making an excuse to a flight attendant who's obviously pissed, saying that he needs to use the lavatory.

The plane speeds up on the runway and lifts off. My eardrums pop at the sudden spike in altitude. The last thing I feel is the plane going across turbulence before I close my eyes shut.

~0~

Panic easily oozes off the captain's voice as it rings in everyone's ears. Oxygen masks start dropping above us. Bianca and I settle that Thalia is our priority so I kept the mask on her, my gut suddenly weighing another ten pounds as we plummet downwards from the sky.

The lights start flickering again. A metal rack runs up and down the aisle, a pitcher falling from it and spilling water not far from us.

And the loud, hasty clang brings me to my resolve.

People start shrieking for their lives and I find myself innately calm. I can't even find the strength to be afraid as Thalia's eyes gaze at me, wondering why everyone else is swerving in madness while I keep my frown and wait for the end to come.

I turn to Bianca, telling her, that if she and Thalia ever come out alive, to please take care of my little niece. Bring her back to her mom at Westchester safe and sound. Do anything to keep my little fighter alive.

Bianca nods, tears in her eyes. "I promise." Hair sweeps over her face. "And if I don't make it, take this," she hands me with difficulty a roll of cash stuffed inside an envelope from her purse. Her hand bounces along the plane's wild shaking. "Give this to my family – the di Angelos. They're in Queens. I want them to know that I do think about them."

I take the envelope with me, knowing that this is her life's savings. The envelope is her life.

"I'll send your regards," I say.

I hope that at least Thalia and one of us will make it out alive. If God truly permits…

And to my alarm, Thalia's head bangs on the seat in front of her. I encase her around me, shielding her from any more harm. My futile attempt at my goal in keeping her alive.

I wonder how close to the ground we are. I wonder how close I am to never getting home. I wonder if time can slow down because I want to tell Thalia about why the ducks at Central Park leave during winter. She bugged me relentlessly about it when winter arrived in Michigan, for the ducks there never left during winter. I want to answer her now. Just now, I wish the watch on my wrist would stop ticking.

I hear a metallic crash in the front and Thalia screams.

Pain explodes on my spine and then a huge, bright light blinds me.

My mind swims at the nothingness in front of me.

And I know my time is up.

_No, no, no. Don't you go anywhere, Thalia. Just stay with me._

_Just stay with me…_

_Stay –_

~0~

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><p><strong>AN: So, is it okay? I promise I'll make my chapters shorter this time so that your eyes won't glaze from all that reading. I'm sorry if I didn't quite catch Annabeth's character, and please leave some reviews. I want to know if I did alright.**

**Flames are accepted.**

**Please review.**


	2. Smack In The Middle Of  Heaven And Hell

**A/N: I think I'm in serious trouble for leaving this for three months.**

**Let me dish the good news that I'm already finished with the entire story. This was supposed to be my entry for NaNoWriMo but finally decided against it and chose **_**The Non-Romantic Romancers Society **_**instead. The only thing I have to do now is polish the ending because I forwarded this to my beta, and she said that the ending was a tad too depressing, so I'll have to fix that in a jippie.**

**Speaking about betas, storyteller1425 has something to say:**

_**Don't blame the delay in updating on Cassie's Neighbor. It was totally my fault for not getting the documents back to her soon enough. Sorry! And remember, DON'T blame Cassie for this. :)**_

**But we're definitely not blaming her either, right? No one's to blame here. My beta has a life outside of fanfiction, and I think I should be the one apologizing for hogging her time. Oh and yeah. Check out her stories! She's amazing, and all those who read her stories already will agree with me too.**

**Special thanks to:**

**storyteller1425: for being so amazing and unbelievably patient with me throughout this story. And hey, you'd better start posting more stories. What kind of stalker would I be if there's nothing for me to stalk?**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>~0~<p>

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 1 – The Beginning Of A New End**

**Chapter 2: Smack In The Middle Of Heaven And Hell**

Knowing whether or not I'm dead gives me a warm feeling inside.

No, seriously. There's just something soothing in this vast, blackness around me. It's as if I'm just simply closing my eyes to fall asleep.

I can't feel anything. I can't move my legs, my arms, my neck. I can do nothing.

I must be dead.

I wonder if Thalia and Bianca made it. I wonder if everyone in the plane made it and if I'm the only one who's dead. I wonder if the wad of cash Bianca gave me is still in my pocket. I hope that there's an address of the Di Angelos printed on the envelope. So whoever might find my body can deliver it to Bianca's family. I hope that whoever might find my body wouldn't forsake my wish.

I wonder if I'm only dreaming.

I feel like I'm walking in a dream-like state, detached from anything that's keeping me grounded on earth.

A hollow emptiness gets stuck in my chest. Is this it? No heaven? No hell? There's just blackness. I thought there was something more to dying than this awful pint of blindness as I grope for anything that might hold meaning. Any sign.

Am I supposed to dwell into this forever? I don't want to. This is manically boring me to lunacy and I wonder how long I would be like this.

"Her body is not responding to other stimuli," a voice cuts into my dream. It sounds feminine, but I don't recognize the voice. Who is she? "She's in a coma. But she's very much alive."

I'm alive.

Well, there goes my death theory.

Wait… I'm in a coma?

"How long will she be unconscious?"a different voice asks. It sounds like the owner must have been lashing his throat to smithereens. I know that voice. Dad.

I hear someone clearing her throat. "We… cannot tell. If the medications we are giving are working, she would be up in a couple of days or so. But time is indefinite. The coma can last in weeks, months… I am sorry, Mr. Chase."

I can already picture my dad's defeated face, ashen.

"She absorbed most of the impact," the woman – a doctor, I think – told my father. "You must thank her for keeping Ms. Grace alive. The younger one's injuries were limited to cuts and a few broken bones. She'll be out in three months."

Thalia's alive.

Right now, I'm not really thinking of my own worries of how I would slip back from comatose. I'd rather be as long as Thalia's alive.

"What about my daughter, Dr. Jackson?" I tried not to be hurt at his lack of response for my last act of heroism, but I understand. Concern is sometimes _not_ overrated.

I want to tell him that I'm okay. That I'm not needed anymore. That Thalia's alive and everything should be okay and that I want to be dead anyway.

"She's going to be alright." She sounds wary. I can't blame her, though. All doctors can do right now is to give my dad some kind of reassurance.

"Comatose is the aftermath of shock. She's paralyzed but she can hear you if you talk to her. She is strictly auditory, for now," Dr. Jackson continues. "The best thing that you can do as her father is to be with her now. Your daughter needs you."

I hear the slight noise of heels chucking at the floor and a door closing, probably the doctor leaving me and my dad alone.

My dad's feet shuffle across the floor and my insides jolt as my dad touches my hand. I slip back to being morose. I must've looked terrible on the outside and horribly lifeless because my dad started to cry.

And I can't even squeeze his hand back.

I can't embrace him like I always did before – my arms are practically made of stone right now with tubes sticking out from my skin.

I can't tell him that I'll be alright – my tongue counter-reacts, flopping like a dead fish. Immobile.

"That was Sally Jackson," my father sniffs. "She's your doctor and she'll take good care of you." He touches my forehead, wanting to find warmth there, wanting to know that some part of me is still alive. He then talks to me soothingly like fathers talk to their toddlers. And I feel sorry for him instantly.

He chokes up and swallows another sob. "I've already lost your mother. Don't make me lose you too." My bitter resolution washes over me, numbing my already lifeless body. It kills me that right now I'm just listening to him as he talks about my late mother, about how he loves us both, and all I can do is show my outer shell of apathy.

"I'm not ready to be alone."

_I'm not going to leave you alone, Dad._

"Please," my dad pleads. "Stay with me, Annabeth, dear."

_I really wish I could._

"Promise me you'll try," he squeezes my hand even harder.

_I promise._

~0~

I have been detained in this hospital for three, boring weeks.

I shouldn't say boring. It's kind of amusing how people rushed into my room, telling me to be strong, to keep on fighting, to never give up. My faith stands on Stockholm, hoping that whenever the sun comes up, I can open my eyes.

That day still hasn't come.

Relatives of mine instantly flew from San Francisco to here in New Jersey. I heard snippets of stories about the plane crash – Flight JZ101 crashed because of engine failure and landed in a wasteland near Erie, Pennsylvania. The captain, the flight attendants, that old man who went to pee in the lavatory… they all died. A lot of people died. I wouldn't say exactly how many. It's too depressing to go over that again.

On day two, I learned that Bianca died along with the others. Shrapnel pierced her heart and she practically drowned in her own blood spreading across her lungs. I almost wanted to break my promise to Dad – I feel certain that I wasn't meant to be alive. Most people would attune to the idea of cheating Death itself, but when I thought about Bianca di Angelo and the envelope, I hated every single fiber of my being and cursing myself for being alive.

It did offer me some kind of relief that Dr. Sally Jackson found Bianca's envelope in my coat pocket. And thank goodness – the address _was_ posted on it. Bianca's family is currently being notified of their daughter's unfortunate demise. I do hope that Bianca's dreams for them would come true.

Day twenty seven, when Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Thomas came. They said that Thalia was doing fine. Still shaken, but very much alive. They kept on thanking my father for my saving their daughter and offering him sympathies. I know people mean well, but I kept thinking that they were making my dad even more depressed than he already was. I mean, sure, a real, human being would be showing their compassion by telling Dad that I'm going to be okay, that I'm lucky after all that shit.

Lucky? What do they mean by lucky?

Lucky that I'm sprawled across a hospital bed looking like a fucking corpse? Lucky that my dad has to suffer the same thing he did with Mom a few years ago?

Am I really lucky that I'm _barely_ alive?

The sudden noise coming from my BP monitor breaks my internal monologue. For three weeks of therapeutic confinement, I can recognize distinctly the sound of Dr. Jackson's heels clacking on the floor. It echoes across the room, meaning no one is here but her.

"Your BP is fine. Heart rate is stable. You're looking good, Annabeth," Dr. Jackson say. I can feel her hands on the dextrose.

Of all the doctors I've ever had, I like her the most, so far. She treats me the way I'm supposed to be treated. Real. Feeling. Like my feet aren't planted in the grave. And she's very comforting to be around with – I can feel the actual warmth and understanding of a human being instead of that stoic stature doctors steadfastly hold. That's what I need the most right now.

I guess some people are just made to be doctors.

"Mom?" a new voice breaks the silence as I hear the door creak open. It was a guy's voice, probably around my age. Dr. Jackson bids her son to come in.

"What is it, Percy?"

"Just came to visit," the guy – Percy – tells her. "Paul said you've hardly come back to the apartment. Working overtime?"

"There are a lot of people being stranded in the ER," she sighs. "We're a couple of doctors short."

Percy clucks his tongue. "Who's she?"

"Oh. This is Annabeth Chase –"

"Wait. Annabeth Chase? Frederick Chase's daughter? She's one of the passengers in an airplane that crashed in Pennsylvania, right?"

Dr. Jackson's expression must have changed because Percy apologizes.

"She was moved here due to her father's request since Mr. Chase lives here in New Jersey. With her here, he would be able to keep an eye on his daughter."

"Is she asleep? Did you sedate her or what?"

I can tell Dr. Jackson is shaking her head. "No, sweetie. She's in a coma," she says in a hushed tone.

I swear I can hear a pin drop in all that silence.

"She's… um, she's pretty," Percy says, clearing his throat. "Even with all those cuts on her face."

If I could blush, I would've been beet red. I wonder if he would have the guts to say that out loud if my father was the one in here instead.

Dr. Jackson's fingers stroke my hair appreciatively. "She's lovely, I know."

I sigh internally. At least I now know my face isn't as deformed as I feared it was.

"I'd better get going," I can hear the embarrassment seeping in his tone, though I have a hard time knowing why. "I'm coming back tomorrow. Should I bring something?"

"No need, sweetie."

"See you later, Mom."

"Wait, Percy. Don't be rude. You haven't said goodbye to Annabeth, yet."

Another thing about Dr. Jackson. She thinks patients under comatose cope better when they are not deprived of sensual communication. Which is true.

I can picture Percy Jackson rolling his eyes. "Bye, Annabeth." The door shuts with a clunk.

So far, this is the only thing that's happened in three, whole weeks that isn't grounded with despair and sorrow and vain. I kind of feel startled over the fact that Sally actually has a son. I have met doctors that were single or unhappily married, with no demon spawns to add to the constant, squally misery of being an MD.

I then think about how Sally and Percy Jackson must have looked like.

Dr. Jackson chuckles in amusement. "You should've seen the look on his face when he saw you."

Yeah. I can only imagine.

~0~

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><p><strong>AN: Clearly not the best chapter I've ever written, so yeah. Apologies. Might as well point that out in your review/CC/flame. To those who requested their stories to be R&Red by me, I'll be getting to you guys soon, hopefully. Let me finish flunking my exams first.**

**I know I'll completely sound like a car saleswoman, but please join and participate in _The Prompts_ now. Links are on my profile. I already started and submitted a story, and by experience I gotta say it was gratifying. They provide the best writing challenges and exercises. The judges of the contests are the best, I assure you. And you'll be surprised at the overall recognition you'd get for posting. So join now!**

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**Thanks for reading! Please share your thoughts. Reviews, CCs and flames are very much appreciated!**


	3. When Comatose Gets Irritating

**A/N: Three weeks instead of two. You must all hate me for my slow updating.**

**I won't make another speech or formulate some excuse for it, because I know it won't work at all. Sadly, school's just making me even more depressed than I already am, so yeah. This story is bound to be one of my worst, which is saying a lot. Hopefully this chapter's okay enough for you guys. Don't expect too much from me, though. I'm still bad at this art, quite frankly.**

**Special thanks to:**

**storyteller1425 – well, here's an author who's close to perfecting her art. Much love is given to you, my friend, for being so patient with me and giving me all the encouragement and criticism an author should really get.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>~0~<p>

**Stuck In Between **

**Part 1 – The Beginning Of A New End**

**Chapter 3: When Comatose Gets Irritating**

There are two things I hate about being in a coma:

One. People always talk about you as if you aren't even there. They refer to you in third person, to which I think is tiresome and annoying. Granted that I'm in a coma, but that doesn't mean that I can't hear them. It's a whole lot worse than having friends talking shit behind your back. It's more like people deciding about your future in front of you and you can't say a thing, which feels a whole lot worse.

Two. You can't do a goddamn thing! God, now I know how all those paralyzed people feel. Whenever my stomach hurts and the nurse gives me the wrong dosage of PR again, or when people cry on my supposed deathbed and I can't even say a thing… Really. I'm a mess. I really feel that I might go crazy and die as everyone expects I would. That I'm wrapped up with a rubber jacket, forced to be silent when I want to scream, forced to be still when I want to move.

This is what it feels like to be a ghost – separate, alone. Stuck in an endless void. Stuck in the in-between. And there would be a time when I would have to choose between the living and the dead.

I expect things to get worse every day – expect the inevitable. I sometimes imagine myself slipping away, the rope that used to hold me back is starting to break bit by bit. My father's fingers that clasp around mine protectively starts to release me, letting me go. And I'm floating away as far as the wind can carry me.

Most people think of heaven as a paradise garden, a place where they can float on clouds and laze in rivers and mountains. Where angels play with their magic harps, the saints welcome you in open arms. People laugh and toast at heaven's grandeur.

But scenery without solace is meaningless.

I can picture out hell more clearly than heaven, though I don't understand why. Is it because I'm heading there in the first place? I shudder (mentally, of course). Fires as hot as the blazing sun itself, damned souls shrieking in the foulest and shrillest voice they can manage, the devil's goons laughing harshly at the evil people at mercy. Stripped away of anything, souls wander about, miserable and helpless.

There are also good things, though not many, about being condemned to comatose: you can think more clearly. No more obstructions. No more distractions. There's much more space for you to think deep thoughts, a better time to sink in the bitter realities, the truth. I used to think about the biggest mistake that I'll probably commit in my life. Maybe I'll:

a.) Dye my hair a nasty shade of pink.

b.) Lose my job.

c.) Have sex with a defective condom and get prematurely pregnant or acquire STDs.

d.) Rob a bank.

e.) Be a terrorist.

Now, there's a huge possibility that I am not at risk of committing these mistakes, which is another good thing to being in a coma.

I'm trying to be optimistic, which is particularly dangerous for me, considering I'm not one of the optimistic types. But every sanguine thought seeps through the cracks in my brain, leaving me dead and hopeless. My dreams, my fears – they all seem so far away right now. It doesn't matter to me anymore.

When you're about to cross the border between life and death, you'll understand what I'm saying.

Dad starts to caress the curls in my hair, singing dimly.

I guess I'll be sticking around for a while, making sure that everyone's doing well in their lives before I move on. I think about Thalia, whose smile I'm going to miss. I think about Dad, how lonely he'll be when I'm gone. I think about Mom, how close I am to seeing her again.

~0~

Today is February 18. It's been fifty eight days since the airplane crash. I kept myself busy by counting the date, the number of days, hours, minutes, seconds…

February 18. Fifty-eight days is equal to 1,392 hours, which is equal to 83,520 minutes, which is equal to 5,011,200 seconds. I try to keep my mind as active as possible, not wanting it to flop like a sulking vegetable the way my body did.

"Try to remember everything about you, Annabeth," Dr. Jackson said to me a few days back, and I take her advice. I do not want to forget. At least, not yet.

I hear the door swing open and I wonder who it is. The squeal of sneakers in the air is unfamiliar to me.

"Hey," a voice greets and I remember whose it is. It is none other than Dr. Jackson's son, Percy. There is no one else in the room but us, so I figure he must be talking to me.

"I suppose you can't tell me where Mom is," he says, a smile in his voice. I want to sigh in frustration. Of course I can't tell him where in the world his mother is. Need he remind me of my predicament furthermore?

His sneakers squeak even louder. I suppose he is coming closer to me. "Can I sit here? Keep you company?"

_No._ I want to say. _Go away. _I so do not need anyone offering me 'comfort' these days. Being in a coma makes me reasonably glum, yes.

But, as expected, he heads beside me and scrapes the floor with the chair's legs. He sits. I can feel his gaze on me and again, I really want to roll my eyes in indignation. I've once heard that silence means yes, but this is absurd.

"My name's Percy Jackson," he says. "Your doctor, Sally… she's my mom."

I prickle. As if I didn't know that already.

"I talked to your dad a couple of days ago. He seems nice. He told me about what you did back there. You saved that little girl – your cousin, right? You're pretty brave."

First, he tells me that I'm physically attractive somehow. And now he's telling me that I'm brave. Wow. I am not used to being showered by compliments all the time. I should survive a plane crash more often.

"Your cousin's resting in the opposite room down the hallway. She's also one of my mom's patients. She's getting better every day. Yesterday, she threw quite a tantrum because she wanted to have chocolate pudding," Percy chuckles and I laugh with him. Thalia values chocolate pudding more than any dessert in the world. And it is also a relief that Thalia's doing fine these days.

I hear another screech from the chair. "She wants to come here, you know. Wants to see you. After all, you saved her from that plane crash, right?"

Flashes of that horrifying event splatter across my mind. Nausea brings me to the brim, suddenly finding myself having difficulty in breathing.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes.

_For what?_ I want to ask.

"I shouldn't have told you that. It's traumatizing to remember."

Curiosity overwhelms me when he laughs nervously. I might not know how he looks like, but I'm sure it's not at all that bad. I mean, his laugh is nice.

I suddenly have this…need to open my eyes. I will for my eyelids to flutter. Vain hope. I sigh. Will I ever wake up?

"The weather's great outside," his voice falters and I am not astounded at the sudden change of subject: when you run out of things to say, talk about the weather. "A lot of kids are playing down at the playground. Nico di Angelo's one of them. He's Bianca's younger brother. Do you remember her? She's the one on the seat next to you on the plane before – well, you know."

My ears perk up. I do remember Bianca. How could I forget? She was one of the last persons I ever saw since the accident.

"He comes to your cousin's room frequently," Percy continues. "He's the same age as Thalia. You should've seen those two together. No one can leave them alone for two measly minutes. The next thing you know, both of them are coated with spaghetti and meatballs."

Without meaning to, I feel all the more depressed at his story. I really miss talking to my little impulsive Thalia. I really miss seeing that gap-toothed grin of hers.

"They really want you to come back, you know. Especially your father. He misses you a lot," he clears his throat. "He's very lucky to have you as his daughter. And I do have to say that you're very lucky to have him as your dad. He loves you."

Percy moistens his lips. "I guess he never had the strength to tell you that. I mean, he's a guy. But he really does. I've never seen a father so… devoted in keeping himself all in one piece just for you. He's there. He'll never leave. Just as long as you'll be there."

And I fully understand what Percy Jackson was trying to say. I really need to stay alive for my dad's benefit. I owe him a lot for raising me alone ever since mom died twelve years ago, and I shouldn't be throwing everything – my life – away. It may seem overly clichéd, but my dad does care about me.

This complicates things.

"Unlike yours, my dad was a wuss. Stupid. I hated him for leaving us. I still do, and –,"Percy pauses, stopping himself from drawling about his father's filth.

"I'm boring you, aren't I?"

My imaginary eyebrows knot in confusion. He is definitely not boring me. Admittedly, I am relieved that I am not the focus of the topic anymore. I don't like it when people start talking and pressing personal things about me. It's… discontenting. I'd rather he talk about his unfaithful father than stir the conversation towards myself.

"I'm creeping you out, I know. I've never talked to my mother's patients before until now. Even though it's just a one-sided conversation. Because I'm doing all the talking and you're doing all the listening…"

I just settle with my best to picture him looking a little sheepish. My best guess is that he looks like one of those cute beach dudes back in San Diego – sandy blonde hair, blue eyes. Better to have an outlook than none at all.

A relative pause. I guess he's running out of things to say to a muted patient. I make an estimate again. He'll be leaving this room to continue looking for his mom in T-minus ten seconds.

_Ten._

_Nine._

_Eight._

I hear another screech from the chair.

_Seven._

_Six._

_Five._

"You're very cute, you know?" he says.

_Four._

_Three._

I halt my counting.

What?

"You're just... You just look like you've got something – I don't know. You're just attractive, I guess. Somehow, beneath all that stitches and cuts and – "

Jeez, Percy. Thanks. Really wish I could say the same for you.

"I guess you do know you're pretty. I mean, you seem like the girl who has a lot of confidence."

Wait. Are you saying that I'm conceited?

"No, I'm not saying that you're smug," he adds hastily. "You may or may not be. I mean, you could be. There's just no telling. Maybe if you'd open your eyes and speak and move, you could prove it to me otherwise."

I huff. Just so you'd know, I have been trying to open my eyes for fifty eight days, genius. How dare you call me smug?

He falls silent. Oh good. Better he think twice of insulting a nearly dead person next time.

"You're the first girl that I have ever called pretty," he admits, flushed.

Wow. Really?

"I mean… There are other girls that I think are pretty too. But I never said it in front of them, never had the confidence to say it out loud. I was afraid they would slap me or whatever it is you girls do."

Well… There goes my ego.

He shifts uncomfortably on his seat. "But I think you're the prettiest girl ever. Beautiful, even. And I'm not just saying that because you're physically constrained from smacking me hard on the face," he chuckles to hide his discomfort.

I hear my heart rate monitor go berserk, startling him. I try my best to restrain my heart from cracking open my ribs from too much pounding. This is one of those times that I am grateful that I cannot say a thing. I don't have any response to that, which is saying a lot. I rarely get to be the speechless one.

I struggle to open my eyes again. Still nothing.

"I'm sorry," this time, I know he was referring to the sudden spike of my heart rate. "I'm stressing you out. I should go. There's a guy with the funny-looking sideburns downstairs that wants my mom on the stat," he stands up and I hear those sneakers rubbing across the tiled floor.

"If you want, maybe I'll drop by once in a while. Tell you more about what's happening around here," he sounds unsure. I know he is just being cordial. I know he wouldn't come back after this.

"I guess I'll see you around?"

He says it like a question and I want to laugh at that. He will most likely _not _see me around wandering about the streets of NJ, juggling oranges.

I know he realizes how stupid he's been acting when I hear him sigh exasperatedly. The doorknob snivels and the door closes quietly.

And then, I'm alone again.

~0~

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><p><strong>AN: Didn't quite work out the way I wanted it, but all the same. Still not my best chapter. ****Reviews are appreciated and much adored. Constructive criticism and flames are also great. Thank you very much for reading, guys!**

**Oh and, happy, happy advanced 17****th**** birthday to our beloved hero, Perseus "Percy" Jackson! Hope every PJO fan would celebrate it, too!**


	4. Children At Play

**A/N: About time I updated. It's been about a month and I really don't have the time to reply to your reviews. I'll surely reply sooner or later of course, but it will take some time. Just so you'll know, I do read them and I appreciate them very much. It helped me get through a lot (more than you'll ever know, to tell the truth).**

**Mind you, this isn't a really awesome, stupendous story everyone would want to read if I say so myself. Just a couple of unorganized thoughts of a comatosed Annabeth Chase, inspired by depressing notion I got from staring at nothingness in front of me. But I'm sure that at least, it'll be good and maybe I should really put a stop to my below-than-normal pride as an author and try creating magnificent stories I'd be proud to call as my own.**

**Special thanks to:**

**storyteller145 – for the always wonderful beta. I'm sorry if I haven't been keeping touch with you because I'm really in a tight notch right now, and it wouldn't be wise if I devoted even more time to fanfiction than I already have been. Thank you for being the best beta in the west!**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>~0~<p>

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 1 – The Beginning Of A New End**

**Chapter 4: Children At Play**

Today is March 6.

Right now, my dad is flipping through the photo albums. _Our_ photo albums. It's kind of a disappointment that I won't be able to see them but dad offered the next best thing: he described them to me. Like a parent does to his children whenever he reads a storybook to them. It's nice just to hear Dad's voice. Usually, it was my mom who read to me all those stories about _Cinderella, Snow White, _and_ Little Red Riding Hood. _But since she's currently unavailable, my dad is more than willing to fill in the spot.

He tells me I look cute with the purple dress I wore when I was seven.

My seventh birthday was the most memorable out of all my past birthday parties. I even thought God made time stop just for me – I felt that every single person in the world attended. Everyone I wanted most to see was there– Mom, Dad, my classmates, Luke and the rest of my neighbors. It was bliss. My birthday cake was enormous. Luke kept on smothering me with the vanilla icing. I had trouble trying to blow all of the five candles for I was out of wind. I couldn't stop laughing that day.

I received my first Bible book as a gift from my widowed aunt. Her name's Janine, one of the nicest relatives on my father's side of the family. I'm sure she used to be pretty back when she was my age, but I guess she wasn't made for adulthood. Now she's all fat and blubbery. My neighborhood friends once joked about her, saying that her husband jumped off a building because she got ugly. But Aunt Janine just laughed it off. That's how nice she was. I also got a spyglass from the astronomy club. I was crazy about stars and planets back then. I had a lot of presents but two of them were the most notable:

Mom and Dad gave me a life-size stuffed toy rabbit. It looked a lot like my dead rabbit Peter – I named him after Peter Rabbit – and I couldn't stop crying when he died a few weeks before my birthday. And I seldom cried. So my parents got me a replacement for Peter, though nothing can replace that furry, little lagomorph. It was a small compensation, but it got me to let go of Peter. And it was my favorite. The rabbit was the last gift the two of them together gave to me. It's still back at my apartment, nestling on the topmost shelf in my room. It's missing a huge chunk of his left ear. Roosevelt, my dog, bit that part out when I was doing grocery shopping for Christmas Eve.

And Luke, my best-friend-who's-a-boy, gave me a silver chain necklace with red jasper as a pendant. He told me he found it at a thrift store while he and his mom were out shopping. He knew jaspers where my favorite stone but I still haven't figured out how he'd known. It was really sweet of him; he hardly gives anyone presents. It's not that he's selfish or greedy or he doesn't really care. He's just doesn't like giving anyone anything. Being worldly and materialistic is something he really isn't hot about. So it was a marvel in itself. I wore it ever since. Once, the silver chain broke and it almost got me to tears. I had a Canadian replace it. He even offered to buy the stone from me, saying it was an antique and costed a lot. I refused. Luke's gift really mattered to me. It was an emblem of our friendship that lasted all of these years. And _he, _most of all, mattered to me. I never told him of my lingering feelings – it was more of an infatuation that grew more intense every time I thought about how perfect he was. And now, I fear that I might never have a chance to tell him.

I don't know where he is now. All I know is that he's somewhere in Switzerland, studying metallurgy, majoring in Mechanical Engineering. I wonder if he knows what happened to me, if he knows my days are limited. I wonder if he knows that I wouldn't be able to walk or talk anymore, that we could never hang out and goof around at Central Park like we used to. That we could never hunt down and steal back his bike from those black guys at Harlem. That everything between us would never be the same again.

Percy Jackson still hasn't visited me for over a week.

He usually dropped by day after day, keeping me posted of all the things going around, complain that the hospital food here stinks and that they should fire the cook, etcetera etcetera. I thought he wouldn't visit after our second encounter, but he did. Weird fellow, but he's a really nice guy if you think about it. He doesn't have that haughty air I usually sense in guys.

I have a feeling that he's quite awkward around girls. Often he would say he's afraid that he's boring me with his rambling, which is ridiculous. My life story next to his is like a trout swimming next to a shark.

I want to laugh when he says something utterly stupid, though of course, I can't. I am not claiming my intellectual superiority over him. I am not _that _smart. And he's not _that_ dense. Sort of.

He likes to crack jokes. He likes to play music for me. He even reads the newspaper headlines out loud, just so I'm 'updated'. No word about my health status passes through his lips, and I'm cool with that. What I really need right now is sensitivity; it was nice enough for people not to drop news about how close I am to dying once in a while.

And most of all, I find his company rather… comforting.

Dr. Jackson – I should probably call her Sally. It makes life so much easier – tells me that Percy would visit tomorrow. He's busy with school right now so he can't come.

Not that I care.

"Who's Percy?" Dad asks Sally after closing the photo album.

Shit.

"He's my son," Sally answers. "He comes to the hospital to visit me a few times a week. You talked to him a few weeks ago, don't you remember? Sometimes, he would come and see Annabeth."

"Oh."

My mind's reeling. That 'oh' can mean a lot of things. My dad can be touchy and irrational sometimes.

"Why does he come and check on _my_ Annabeth?"

I (mentally) slap my forehead. The 'my' was stressed as possessive. Jeez, Dad. It's not like Percy's doing anything horrible. No need for him to issue a restraining order.

Good thing good ol' Sally's taking it all smoothly. "Percy likes talking to her a lot. He's quite insightful, and I'm not just saying that because he's my son. He knows that Annabeth's listening to him," I can sense her hands attaching a new water pack on the tubes.

"I think Percy admires your daughter. She is a hero and a survivor, after all. She's going to be alright."

My dad holds my hand. "I know she will."

~0~

March 22.

I try to gnash my resolve to remember every single sound I hear, every single thought that crosses my mind, every single memory that suddenly got blurry whenever I pictured them.

I forget my birthday.

I'm starting to worry. Distant memories I have kept locked up in the deepest pits of my mind start to crawl out. They suddenly start to flicker away and I constantly drive myself to grab them and put them back, afraid that they would float so far away and I'd never get them back.

I forget my favorite color.

I mentally grit my teeth, trying my hardest to hold on to the ability to think. Right now, all I can do is dwell on the miniscule things in my life, even those memories I once gladly shunned , hoping this vain hope that if I do remember, I'll be whole again.

"No! Don't come in there, Thalia!" Dad yells when I hear the door slam open.

Thalia?

"She's here!" Thalia's voice echoes in my thoughts. I want to cry. There's nothing broken in her voice. She's warm, good and healthy.

"No, Thalia. Don't– "

"Annabeth!" she jumps at my bed. "Annabeth! Are you alright? She's alright, right?"

I hear Uncle Thomas burst inside the room. "Thalia, darling. Please. Get off the bed –"

"You said she's not here!" Thalia protests, her six-year-old cries seem so familiar that I want to yelp in joy. I can remember memories of us together more clearly. The days that we would go roller-skating, the times that we would watch movies together and eat popcorn –

"Why is she asleep?" Thalia asks.

Alarms start going off in my head.

"Why is she still sleeping? Come on, Annabeth! It's already morning! I want to play hide-and-go-seek!"

"Thali-"

"Anna-beth! Wake up! Annaaaaabbbbeeeetttthh!"

"No, Thalia! Don't slap her!"

"Why isn't she waking up?" Thalia's voice turns dejected. I can tell from Uncle Thomas and Dad's anxious shouts that Thalia's slapping me again, though I can't feel any of her little fingers grazing my cheek.

I make another attempt to open my eyes.

"Auntie Annabeth's tired. You should let her rest," Dad explains.

"But she's always sleeping! Come on, Annabeth! Look at me! They took out my cast! See?"

She continues. "I want you to meet my new playmate! His name is Nico! And he wants to see you too! He wants us to play with his Mythomagic cards!"

"Thalia, please. Get off the bed."

"Why aren't you answering me?" she's starting to cry.

Oh, Thalia. I really do want to answer you.

"Don't you love me anymore?" At that, my heart breaks. I really wish I could've died instead of letting Thalia think that I've never loved her. I love her more than anything else in the world.

"Do you love me?"

_I do love you, Thalia_.

"Then wake up!"

_I'm sorry. I can't._

Thalia weeps and sobs and cries. The sound of her tears trickling down her cheeks is even more mortifying than hearing a plane break apart in mid-air.

She shrieks and wails. Uncle Thomas pulls her away from my bed and I want to tell him to stop.

_No. Please. Don't take her away from me._

Thalia kicks and yells at the top of her lungs, telling Uncle Thomas to get off of her as she is being pulled away from the room.

Dad closes the door.

~0~

The door opens.

"Oh, Percy! You're here!" Sally exclaims.

My insides jolt. Percy?

"Hey, Mom. How's she doin'?"

"She's fine, mostly. Not much difference since you last came here. Good news is that we don't have to resuscitate her anymore. And I'm great, thank you for asking."

Percy snorts and Sally laughs. To think about it, Sally's pretty cool to have as a mom. Percy's one lucky bastard.

"I want to talk to her for a while," Percy says nonchalantly.

"Sure. Go ahead."

"Mom."

"Okay, okay," she chuckles. "I'll leave. You two have a great time. Again, don't stress her out too much."

"I won't," he calls back as Sally closes the door in fits of giggles.

Oh great. Just what I needed. My own doctor playing me for matchmaker hook-ups.

"Ignore her," I hear him say as he pulls a chair to face me. "She's like that sometimes." He doesn't say anything furthermore and I decide to just listen to his breathing.

"I'm sorry if I only got to visit today. I tried to accomplish my requirements in school for a month so that I can come and visit you without those annoying deadlines hovering behind my back," he whispers.

I wait.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," he takes in deep, clammy breaths.

I prepare myself for the unexpected.

He's going to start opening to me, isn't he? Too bad I can't say or do anything at the moment. He's been nice to me so far.

"My mom's getting… remarried."

I think my eyebrows might have cocked visibly. I was expecting something more… I don't know. Something deep and really constricting. Remarriages are things that aren't complex and are easy enough to understand for me.

Three cheers for your mom, I say. It's good to know Sally's finally moving on.

"That's why she seems really cheerful most of the time. I'm guessing you've noticed."

Yeah, I did. Just before Percy came in, she was whistling Christopher Cross' love songs, which I find terribly unusual for middle-aged doctors treating patients with coma. I thought it was a normalcy for Sally Jackson. Apparently not.

_So_, I want to say to Percy. _What's so bad that your mom's marrying someone else?_

"The dude she's marrying is my English teacher."

Oh. Now I see the complication.

"I mean, Paul's a nice guy. Unlike my ex-stepdad, Gabe – he's that bastard mom married just so that we could have food in our bellies and that I could keep out of trouble for the last ten years –, Paul makes my mom happy. He's smart, he can hold a job, he's… good-looking. Goddammit, he looks like a movie star."

_So what seems to be the problem?_

"I don't know why I'm fretting all over this. This isn't really a nice time to be selfish. But he's my English teacher. And English is like my worst subject. Ever. It's bad enough I have dyslexia keeping me from doing anything good. And it gets especially worse when my ADHD kicks in –"

Wow. Really? ADHD and dyslexia at the same time? I'd rather slumber forever in comatose than being instituted to finish education in a coup d'état fashion.

"It's embarrassing enough that my future stepdad's my English teacher. But I'm expected to do good, maybe excellent in English. Which is a lost cause, by the way. I have to fail every single grammar test known to man and disappoint Paul and mom. And I really can't stand to hear another gloat coming from Marshall – she's that cocky brainiac in my English and Math classes. I'll be humiliating myself all over again and start from scratch.

"And I'm afraid that once mom and Paul get married, they'll be starting a new family of their own. Kids. Kids mean commitment. And the two of them would be so caught up raising their daughter perfectly that I'd be the loose end in the Jackson family. Or better yet, the _Blofis _family."

Now I understand if Percy's in pique. I am relieved that dad's too attached to my mom that he never thought about remarrying. If I were Percy, I would be entirely troubled if my mom will be marrying, going to the movies, being in parent-teacher's conferences, and having sex with someone other than my biological father.

He exhales heavily – not truly a sigh. "But yeah, my mom's happy."

_But are you happy?_ I question. If there's one thing I know about relationships, especially family ones, it's that it's not a good thing that only one of you is happy. I mean, both of them should be. In this case, Paul's supposed-to-be stepson should approve of this too.

"Well, I can't really say I'm wholly ecstatic with this whole my-mother's-moving-in-with-my-English-teacher thing," he says, answering my unsaid question – which I find weird, actually.

He exhales again, "But…"

But?

"If she's happy, then I'm happy."

What?

"I mean, if Paul is who she really thinks is the best guy for her, and if he makes her happy, then I guess I don't really have a say in all this. He is who my mom wants."

This did not fit in the scenario I was imagining.

_Why don't you express your uncertainty in all this?_ I ask, the thought ringing inside my head loud and clear.

He answers my question and again, I find this very, very creepy. "I don't think I have to confront them, though. She's the one who's going to be the bride, after all. Besides, if Paul isn't the best candidate to be my stepdad, I don't think there ever will be. I couldn't imagine two better people."

I'm not sure if I'm getting the rationality in his statement. Being in a family is diplomatic. If there are any reasons why he's sacrificing his point of interests just so his mom would be happy and why his comment shocks me, I can only think of one thing:

Percy Jackson is selfless.

I sigh. I think the universe really wants me to know that I'm a horrible person by having Percy unconsciously give me the impression that his needs are at the bottom of the list – a much better person than I ever will be.

"I guess my new stepbrother or stepsister would be so much faster and better in dealing with arithmetic and spelling words like streptococcus in school," he laughs it off, like the marriage of his mom and this Paul guy wouldn't affect much of his life in the wheel.

Seriously, there's no making sense out of this guy. But admittedly, it is comprehensible why someone can be self-effacing and self-sacrificing. Like a martyr, for instance. Martyrs are like, one of the endangered species in this generation. He totally gives way for his mother's happiness. He suffered a month of advancement programs and finishing up his requirements just so he could visit me without college bugging him, which is amazing on how he did it, especially with the dyslexia and ADHD. I find the latter really… sweet.

"I didn't know you have gray eyes," Percy's abrupt remark pulls me out from my reverie. His voice is coated with amazement.

Wait. How did he know I have gray eyes? My eyes are currently not open, in case you're wondering.

"People rarely have gray eyes," he mutters to himself. He then chuckles. "Cool. And you look pretty cute when you were a kid." He goes to a fit of sniggers.

When I was a kid? Oh my god! Is he looking at –

"You have a lot of pictures in here. In your photo album, I mean," and then he laughs out loud again. "Wow. You're very chubby when you were little. Good thing you've burned out all of your baby fat."

I'm burning like fire now. This is so embarrassing! I swear I'm going to kill my dad for leaving the photo album in the open for prying eyes.

Percy continues to laugh at my expense.

"Nice bathtub you have here."

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

Oh no.

The undertone and his laugh make me flush in my head. He's looking at my baby pictures and he saw the most mortifying picture of all. I was stark naked in a bathtub back in San Francisco, and my mom decided to take a picture while Dad scrubbed me down.

He laughs again and I can only wonder what other horrendous photos he's seeing. Did he see that stupid picture of me when I tried skateboarding when I was thirteen? – and explicably failed in that attempt if I might add.

Shit. I want to die right now.

"So you got your eyes from your mom," he says. He's now looking at my family picture. "A family of blondes. Now I know where you got your looks."

I should say some people think I'm my mom's spitting image. But I think she's much prettier than I can ever get.

I can tell he's still looking at the picture. "She's gorgeous," he sounds flustered. I guess that's probably because he called someone else's mom hot. "Your dad's handsome too. You have traces of him in your face..."

I settle with brushing off his previous comment and listen to his current chatter about him never being in California before, and that it would be nice if he'd come visit there when I wake up, and blah, blah, blah, pinnacle of the topic being my pictures as a regular high school girl.

"I don't see your mother here, by the way. Where is she?"

Hot subject. Good thing I'm entitled to keep my mouth shut.

"Oh, right. You can't talk," he exhales heavily – this time a sigh. He suddenly seems sad. The wheels in my head turn and turn. I try to keep up and understand Percy's sudden change in mood and what spiked it. He's like the sea – calm and sometimes, stormy. Or maybe he's like a pubescent girl on the verge of PMS.

"I don't know why I like this – sitting on a chair and talking to you," he utters finally.

I have a strong feeling that I know why he does but I don't consider it. Intuitive as I may be, there's no real telling.

"I don't know if it's because for once, I'm talking and there's someone listening, or if it's because it's cool doing something really different for a change. I don't know if it's because you're my mom's patient," he pauses and I hear him stand up from his chair and starts pacing. He's beginning to feel restless.

"I start telling you things and you listen to them. And when I say things, I can…_feel _you talk to me too. I don't know if I'm imagining all this, but there are times I can feel that you're talking to me and that I'm reading your thoughts. And it's not easy. I have to work hard and completely dry out my brain just to know what you're trying to say to me but… I understand you and at the same time… I can't. Have you ever felt that way?"

To think about it, yeah. I have. It is weird how Percy can sometimes tell what I'm thinking.

"See?" he's saying these things out loud like a madman, and I'm guessing he's been taking a huge dose of caffeine. "I can even tell you do. You're just lying there. You're not saying a single word but when I look at the monitor, when I look at your face – "

He finishes mid-sentence. He paces some more, muttering how crazy he's been getting and I start to get worried.

Will he leave?

"I'm sorry," he apologizes for the umpteenth time. "I'm stressing you out. And I shouldn't be. I'd better get going."

_No, don't –_

The door slams shut.

~0~

I have to admit that I worried myself to death overnight when I thought I frustrated Percy too much that he might not come back.

But that oaf did.

By the next day, and for the next twelve weeks for that matter, I would hear the door swing open and imagine him smiling – because he says he's always smiling idiotically whenever he comes over. And he'll imagine me grinning back at him and then he'd talk and I'd listen senselessly until it was time for him to go.

We (he) tried to veer from any complexities of some sort, but there are times that we (he) would talk about deep, complicated, personal things. I don't see him anymore as my doctor's son. He's so much more than that.

He finds me difficult to understand, partly because I'm sprawled across the hospital's bed, constricted, therefore not being able to make any further action to help him with that. Secretly, I have this sense of gratification whenever I send him scrambling after me, whenever I just leave him my beeping heart rate monitor and my breathing patterns as the only clues to my thoughts.

I sigh. I'm being callous and a savage. Or is it because I'm a girl?

He tells me his favorite color is blue, which then makes my brain remind me of my own favorite color: green.

I'm still wondering what he looks like: does he have blond hair, black? Is he a red-head? Does he have blue eyes? Brown? Green? Hazel? Whatever he looks like, he keeps his mouth shut about it.

He tells me his birthday is on August 18th, a good two months away from now. He says the best birthday gift I could ever get him is for me to wake up from my slumber.

Like that'll happen.

He asks me to do it, makes me swear to it. And of course, my ever-so perfect silence meant yes to him.

Spending time with him made me discover something: Percy Jackson isn't perfect. He's been kicked out of school eight times in a row mostly because he has ADHD and dyslexia, and he snaps back at sarcastic teachers whenever he gets pissed off. He's afraid of riding airplanes. He's claustrophobic. He's a dunderhead. He drools when he sleeps (he drooled on my sheets when he slept over in my room once). He dated girls three times. Two of them dumped him because frequently, he wasn't punctual on dates. The other one proposed that they should get married after high school and Percy 'freaked out a little'. She dumped him because of that.

I laugh at that thought.

And I decide that I like having him as a person and as a friend. I have my own imperfections to deal with, and it's kind of nice that I have someone by me who's almost as imperfect as I am and who's willing to stand by me to work it all out.

We've developed our own means of communication. He would ask me something, like whether I'm a fan of alt rock and my subtle increase in heart rate would indicate a yes. If Percy didn't see any change, he would interpret it as a no. I have to be careful in controlling my heart rate, of course. Once, he wasn't seeing any rise in the monitor – I can be rattled by how slow he can get sometimes – that I went overboard. The spike in my heart rate was too high for the medical staff to ignore. Percy got kicked out off the room instantly and wasn't allowed to visit me anymore. He got his mother to reconsider and after his four days of suspension, he was back with a bag of Cheetos with him.

Having a doctor for a mom has its perks.

Right now, Percy is doing his math homework while Thalia and Nico are playing on the floor. Thalia's finally allowed to come in here as long as she won't try to pull the dextrose off of me again.

"Dionysius is lame!" Thalia argues with Nico. "He's only got five hundred attack points and he looks ugly on that card!"

I can tell Nico isn't happy with that statement. "Dionysius is not ugly!" he spits back. "He's just beardy."

"Well that's stupid. Why doesn't he shave, then?"

Thalia and Nico's friendship is one of the most amusing ones for children under ten years old. They fight a lot and they have a lot of different beliefs; one of the main reasons why they don't get along pretty well. They both have tempers and they're both perceptive for someone their age. After they fight, Nico would give her a cup of chocolate pudding. Knowing that the apology's been unsaid yet done, the two of them would play again and fight, the whole cycle goes on and on and repeats itself.

"This game is boring! Why don't we get married?"

"Yeah!" Nico answers brightly and I did a double-take, mentally widen my eyes, stunned.

That also got Percy's attention. I hear him stop scribbling studiously on a paper. "What did you guys say?"

"We want to get married!" Thalia exclaims. "We saw two people doing it on TV yesterday. I can be the girl and Nico can be the boy. It's perfect!"

She said it with so much conviction that I had to laugh.

Percy chuckles along with me. "Why do you two want to get married?"

"Because I'm a boy and she's a girl!" Nico answers.

"And we're best friends!" Thalia adds.

Percy laughs again at their juvenile innocence. I know what he's thinking. He's deciding to play along with the whole thing.

Thalia claps her hands. "Why are you taking Annabeth's sheets?"

"This will be your veil," he says and I imagine him putting it all around my niece like a hoodie.

Again, I want to laugh. White hospital sheets for a bridal veil. Very resourceful, Percy.

"I guess that makes me the minister in this occasion," he's fighting the urge to laugh. I hear him slap his book shut and slide it from the desk. "Okay. Now that I have my bible ready… Nico. Thalia. Stand over here, please."

Nico and Thalia sweep over to his front. I'm really, really frustrated that I won't be able to see this and miss my own niece's wedding. This is comedy gold.

Percy clears his throat, choking back a laugh and starts his speech. "We are all gathered here today… uh, sorry. I don't know the rest of my lines so I'll just jump to where you say your vows."

"Say it like the minister did on TV," Thalia orders him and Percy chuckles, obeying her.

"Do you, Nico di Angelo, take Thalia Grace to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Silence followed.

"Uh, what do I say?" Nico asks.

"You have to say yes or no. If you'll say yes, it means you want to marry Thalia. If no, then it means you don't want her. Maybe because you love somebody else –"

"Yes! Thalia's my only best friend in the _whole_, wide world!" he chirps, prolonging the 'whole'.

"Alright, then," Percy chuckles. He turns to Thalia. "Do you, Thalia Grace, take Nico di Angelo to be your lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"Yes," Thalia answers with sureness in her tone, not knowing that this answer much later in life would change everything forever.

Ah. Ignorance is bliss.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." Percy hesitates. "You may now er… kiss the bride?"

"Ew! I'm not kissing her!" Nico exclaims.

Thalia agrees. "He's right! I'm not kissing him, Minister Percy! His lips are disgusting!"

"Hey! You take that back!"

"Hey, hey, hey! It's okay if you guys don't kiss," Percy – Minister Percy – stops them. "You can just hug each other instead."

The couple huff in assent.

"Ow, ow, ow! She's squeezing me to death – "

"You may stop hugging him now, Mrs. Di Angelo," Minister Percy bids the two of them as one, happily, married couple.

"Yay! We're married!" Nico cheers and he and Mrs. Thalia di Angelo share high fives.

Thalia's sandals go up and down as she jumps. "Now it's your turn, Percy!"

I sense Percy's immediate confusion. "What?"

"You should play too!" Nico yelps in delight. "You should get married! Come on! I'll play the minister!"

Percy brushes the two off. "No, it's okay. I don't want to get married. I'm not ready – "

"Why not?" Nico questions. "You've got her. She'll be the bride." He points at someone and I wonder whoever _she_ is. Is the nurse in here already? I did not hear her get inside. I almost feel sorry with this nurse who's going to be stuck in one of my hyperactive niece and her make-believe husband's schemes.

"You mean Annabeth?" Percy exclaims incredulously and my heart drops in alarm. What?

He concurs. "No, we're not getting married – "

"Don't you like Annabeth? Isn't she your girlfriend?"

Dammit.

"Er – she's not," Percy responds uneasily. "She's just my friend."

I feel sorry for Percy. I do hope Thalia doesn't scare him off. That's _my _job.

"But you like her," is Nico's assumption.

Thalia, once again, agrees. "Yeah. Come on, Percy. Nico would be the minister and Annabeth would be your bride."

"Hmm… Annabeth Jackson. I do like the sound of that," Percy chuckles good-naturedly and I'm flabbergasted. I can't believe he's playing along, actually considering this! Oh, and Annabeth Jackson sounds a little off.

I want to strangle Percy for this.

I can always picture my childhood friend Luke to be the guy who I'll marry in the future, but Percy? It couldn't be possible, right? I mean, not that I don't like Percy. I do, in the friend context. We've only known each other for months. Besides, I haven't even had a glimpse of his face. Not that I consider looks as an immense matter, but – argh. I'm giving myself a headache.

I sigh. I'm being unreasonable. This is all made-up, right? No need to be so groundless.

Alright. It's not like we're jinxing anything, right?

"Okay," Percy says in an amused tone as Thalia instructs him to hold my hand. "Let's get married."

~0~

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><p><strong>AN: Thank you very much if you've gone this far. Made it a whole lot longer for those who wanted more, but I do hope I didn't glaze your eyes that much, though. I promise I'll be replying to your reviews as soon as I can – just let me beat up my teachers first. Will be hoping for your continued support.**

**Also, vote for either my four nominated stories in the Verita Awards. Links are on my profile. But there are also a lot of other great authors out there nominated, so feel free to vote whichever your heart desires.**

**Thank you very much for everything, guys! Review, please! Flames and constructive criticisms are also accepted!**


	5. Tricks Of The Mind

**A/N:I've been getting a funny feeling every time I update this story.**

**I don't know why. It just feels weird, you know, putting up a chapter that you have written for a long, long time ago. I was different when I wrote/typed this story down. Anyways, thank you very, very much for the wonderful reviews you've sent me. I was quite amazed that this story got this far. And I'm sorry for this stupid chapter you're about to read. It's got nothing much actually, but better than the last update of Of Cuts and Pills, where chapter twenty-two was horrible because I (intentionally. Not sorry at all) made Calypso an M-Sue. Not that I hate her. I have my reasons.**

**This is a stupid author's note. I should just get on with it.**

**Special thanks to:**

**storyteller1425 – she's great, she's super nice, she's a great writer, she's a brilliant critic. With all the grace that I have left, I would like to thank this superbly awesome beta and friend for putting up with my whining and being thorough with correcting my mistakes.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>~0~<p>

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 1 – The Beginning Of A New End**

**Chapter 5: Tricks Of The Mind**

I had a seizure two days ago.

I don't remember much at all, except for Sally screaming for help because my BP skyrocketed to a one hundred and seventy. My muscles are still tingling and my system is swimming with Prednisone in my IV, bringing me back to my usual fifty three BP, which means I'm still under a coma.

I thought I was finally going to wake up. For the first time, I was glad I didn't.

Bad things are happening, though.

Dad's in a panic attack and almost never leaves my room for the entire day. Afraid that I'll lose it and get another seizure again, he's determined never to leave me out of his sight.

So when Percy visits me today, Dad's inside the room playing guard dog.

"Hey, Mr. Chase," Percy and Dad shake hands. "How's Annabeth doing? Mom said she had a seizure."

"Oh, well, she's fine. She's been stable since Wednesday. I issued a sick leave for work so that I can keep an eye on her just in case."

I hear someone drop something on the floor.

"I thought you would be coming next week or so. I didn't expect you to be here sooner. I should've brought extra food – "

"It's okay, Mr. Chase," Percy tells him. "I've already eaten anyway."

I can tell Dad's smiling, which is a miracle in itself. "Thank you for keeping Annabeth's company when I wasn't around. I hope it isn't too much trouble."

"It's no problem, sir. Exams came a little early and summer's starting in a few days so I guess I'll be here for the next two months. If that's okay with you, sir," he adds.

"Of course. You've been in here more than your own mother," Dad chuckles and Percy laughs nervously along with him.

I have a strong feeling that these two are talking behind my back. I listen to their conversation earnestly, trying to find hints about their previous conversations.

And then they wallow back into a very intriguing and primitive topic known to man: Basketball.

I am deeply impressed with Percy's knowledge about this popular sport and he throws in more words that are beyond my usual vocabulary: Center. Point guard. Technical Fouls. Offensive Fouls. Backboard. Air balls. Fiddle dee daddle this. Fiddle dee daddle that. He talks about this ball thing with passion. The same way I talk about architecture – which seems boring in other people's perspective, though I find it absolutely fascinating – and I add basketball in my "Percy Jackson's Preferences" list. My respect for him even deepens when Dad agrees with him in certain events at the playoffs, which is surprising. Dad has strong opinions and beliefs in certain agendas, especially basketball, that he's stubborn about it and rarely agrees with anyone.

Here's what they're talking about right now:

Dad: Dwight's the best in defensive if you ask me. But Bosh – no, no. He's just a pike who loves to hug and shoot the ball more often than he should. And don't make me start on Derrick Rose –

Percy: *laughs* Rose's okay but he's still not that good. In reality, he's done little help in securing the Bulls in an NBA championship. Fans are just putting him at the top to relive the Jordan glory days. Too overrated if you ask me.

Dad: Ah! Finally! Someone agrees with me! You did say you're a Lakers fan?

Percy: Yes I did, sir.

Dad: Anyways, I think Kobe's the only one uplifting the MVP standards. There's Gasol and Artest, but I think Kobe's the best player –

Percy: Yes he is, sir. But without the rest of the team, he's just like MJ running around without his shorts, losing his first two playoff games with the Bulls. There are games that Kobe committed a lot of violations and some of them were overlooked because officials can be so darn blind sometimes. Don't get me wrong. I love the guy, but he can be a total a-hole sometimes. I'm surprised he never had a problem having only two legs and walking upright with that big head of his. But overall, he's excellent and smooth and he gets the job done.

Wow. Three cheers for Percy Jackson.

Dad seems to be intrigued with Percy's (assumed) prowess and is asking him if he plays. Percy responds meekly and says he used to play basketball as a hobby back when he was fourteen, playing with a couple of jocks during school nights. He stopped when his mother asked him to when he sprained his wrist and fractured his thigh – Percy's a momma's boy, if you're wondering – but never joined any varsity teams except for the swim team.

Basketball _and _swimming. I can now picture him as a blonde-haired, blue-eyed dude with tan skin more clearly.

Why do guys talk about basketball like it's the coolest thing on earth? Well, maybe it is. Or maybe it's a guy thing.

And now, they're moving into the Mavericks and Suns. When Percy mentions Steve Nash, my ears instantly perk. If there's only one basketball player I know, it's Steve Nash. Ever since I saw him play on ESPN when Dad was watching Phoenix play against Portland, I worshipped the guy. My knowledge of basketball might be limited, and I don't know who the hell Ray Allen is, but I know that if I have to marry a basketball player, I'll pick Nash hands down. And, as Percy says, he's a wicked three-pointer and free-shooter and has an astounding record for his assists. He's got brains and talent. Although the team's pretty terrible, I follow Phoenix Suns because of him.

It's interesting how Percy and Dad are getting along. Dad likes someone who can challenge him in a talk. He deems Percy fit, though basketball isn't nearly as an intellectual topic as how the British were abusive with their trade rights after crushing China in the Opium War. It's nice to hear Dad's old self resurfacing after all these months of wallowing in grief.

"Say, Percy. Thalia told me that you and my daughter are happily married," Dad says to Percy with painful nonchalance, amusement ringing in every word in his spoken sentence.

I curse. Way to break the ice, Dad.

Percy seems to have a problem responding. He starts stammering. "Uh, no, sir. It wasn't anything like that. Well, Thalia and Nico were just playing with us. They saw something on TV, and then they started role-playing it, and then they made me the minister, and then they decided that I should marry too, and since there wasn't any girl around besides Thalia, who's already uh, 'married' to Nico, they said Annabeth should be the bride instead, and then – "

Dad's guffaw interrupts Percy's rambling. "Oh, spare me from your detailed explanation of the event, lad. I know it was something as infantile as that. But don't worry, don't worry. Thalia won't bother you again and surely, you will not be married to someone against your will," he laughs again. "And Annabeth can marry anyone she likes, for that matter. She's nineteen. She's perfectly capable of making her own decisions, even when she was a little girl. She's fiercely independent, bossy, stubborn, but she's loyal."

I'm touched by how high he regards me, but Dad's getting too overboard on this. I can tell what he's implying by how he says all of this, and I want to roll my eyes. Seriously, it's not like Percy's intending to marry me. Besides, marriage is dumb and impractical nowadays. Almost fifty percent of married couples end in messy divorces and I do not want to grow old and belong to that fickle, dirty half of the population. I'd rather stay single, bitter and lonely, thank you very much for asking.

"Sounds like a great girl," Percy finally manages to say.

"Too tough for just any guy to handle."

Is Dad giving Percy the guy talk? Man, I wish I have some excuse to leave the room and never come back.

"I know, sir," Percy answers in a soft tone.

"Now listen to me, Percy," Dad's voice is calm but firm. "You seem like a good kid. If what you're mother's saying is true – "

"Wait. You've been talking to Mom about me?"

"Yes. And I personally think that this isn't the right time for you to be…involved with my daughter. She is sick and what she needs now is nothing else but your support. I know you care about her, and I appreciate that. But as her father, I would have to ask you not to make Annabeth feel any more tension between the two of you. I am asking this as a favor."

Percy was silent for a moment before he answers, "Yeah. I got it."

Silence.

"Promise me you'll do anything to keep Annabeth safe."

"I will, sir. I promise."

Dad replies with a smile in his voice. "Call me Frederick. I feel old when you say sir all the time. But do not call me Fred."

"Frederick," I can sense Percy's grinning, alleviating the stiffness in the air.

"Oh and Percy?"

"Yeah?"

"You can have my blessing."

~0~

I didn't know there was a television set in my room until Sally decided to watch _Grey's Anatomy _and _House MD_ .

I mean, come on. They could've just plugged on the switch in six months of my stay so I wouldn't be so clueless with everything that's going on. Even though Percy gives me a weekly update on everything, it's different with hearing the anchor man saying what's happening in the continental US with my own ears. Besides, I miss watching my favorite programs. I know how people in the medieval ages coped with no magical box as a source of entertainment. But hey, I wasn't born yesterday. Or in the fifteen hundreds as a matter of fact.

I listen as the voices from the TV go louder. Cuddy and House are arguing about some couple not wanting their son to give away half a lung and a bone marrow for their other sick daughter.

"_What ginormous crack pipe have you people been sucking on?" House glowers._

"_House," Dr. Cuddy reproaches him._

_He ignores her. "Are you going to pretend that you aren't choosing your daughter's death?"_

"_Our daughter doesn't want it," the mother reasons._

"_Hmm…," House sneers. "Maybe she doesn't want to floss her teeth either. She's a mindless teeny bopper!"_

_Dr. Cuddy turns to him. "Don't put this on them."_

"_What do you mean 'don't put it on'? It is on them. As much as they want to pass the lung here – "_

"_Of course they do," Cuddy interjects. "You're handing them an impossible choice – "_

"_Life," House says, "has handed them a crappy choice. And they're picking the crappier option. Trading who knows how many healthy decades or four or five years in which roller boy will be a limp rag –"_

"_Not everything is a math equation," she hisses._

"_Do you need me to explain the difference between decade and year?"_

"_Their son is a human being! You know what they are, right? Intrinsic value! We don't get to decide – "_

"_Come on, we do it every day! The two of them needed the same lung – "_

"_He needs to keep the one he's got!" Cuddy yells. "You don't get to play god by ripping out – "_

"_Well, that train left the station when we learned to do transplants. The rest is just paper pushing. Of course, now, we're into your wheel area of expertise."_

"_Oh, I thought we were moving into yours. Bullying your patients into bracing your own lack of amoral."_

A few seconds after that, I hear Sally cry when the son volunteered to donate half of his lung and a bone marrow to his sister. I didn't know she could be that soft.

Well, yeah, I have to admit. It was very touching. And I contemplate whether I'm generous enough to be a donor of whatever organ to my loved ones, or even to a stranger.

I am not saying it's easy to give a huge part of myself – half a lung and a bone marrow perhaps – even to a person who I care about. Maybe it would be easier for me to make the surgeons rip out my kidneys and give it to a stranger who needs it. I don't know why, but my sympathy heightens to people whom I've never met, never been intimate with. I know a lot of people who rip out their vital organs for random people. I guess that's just how it works.

But of course I would swallow all of my fears just to let my family and friends live even if my life expectancy would be shortened significantly. Dad, Thalia, Luke, all my aunts, uncles, cousins. They deserve it.

I wish I had been old enough twelve years ago to give to my mom the heart she needed and maybe she would have been here instead of me, comforting Dad when he needed her the most.

If Dad needs another blood donor, I'll step up and give my type AB blood to him.

If Uncle Jerry wants a transplant because his left ear goes completely deaf, I'll gladly detach it from my head.

Whoever needs a part of me, I guess I'll be there and give it to him willingly.

Because everyone needs a martyr.

To Luke. To the boy whom I'll be ready to give my heart if he needs it.

To my doctor Sally, who's crying her eyes out as the patient's family cry on her death bed.

And even to Percy. To the guy I practically never met but stayed with me for better and for worst.

I'll be giving them anything they want when they ask for it.

I am stuck in between life and death.

I've got nothing left to lose.

~0~

Boys.

You know what they are, right? Half of the population in the world is made up of boys. I have been surrounded by a boy-infested environment and lived with my dad for eighteen years of my life, and survived this whole ordeal of putting up with a bunch of egotistic guys walking around the beaches half naked.

Due to my quandary, there is a lot of space in my head today, which is a good thing because I'll rant. I've got nothing good to do today, obviously, so why not?

After being mentally aggravated with Percy yesterday, I decided to broach the topic.

Boys.

Sexism originated like thousands of years ago. Even my favorite ancient civilization, the Greeks, is sexist. Aristotle was a sexist, who said: "The male is by nature superior, and the female inferior… The one rules and the other is ruled." Which is, by the way, crude. Do females have to grow abs and have ten-story building-sized muscles on their shoulders to be considered as physically competitive and capable? That is shit. It's like saying girls don't have opposable thumbs and have only one leg to support them.

It irritates me, since most men – I'm not saying all – lack genuine personality. Some are asses. They hit on girls and try to sleep with them. I've met a lot of them on campus, which is ironic. I thought after stepping on the marble floors of college, people would be more mature and focus on what things in life really matter. But since a significant number of college guys still think about getting in your pants, it's a trouncing matter.

I like boys who are real. Authentic. Boys who actually think and not blab about some idiocy or pretend to know how you really feel. I like boys who aren't repressive. Fearless, but sane. Boys who don't compel the opposite sex to do things that they aren't comfortable with. I have never been in love, yes. But I am sure I wouldn't fall for 'bad boys' or creepy guys with stalker licenses or whatever it is that girls fantasize on bullshit paranormal movies and sci-fi literature. This is the real world, all right?

Girls do think about sex, and I am not going to be a sexist too by saying we have a mentally clean slate. And boys, well, I don't know what's going on around their heads, but I do know they don't have a clean slate either. So can someone explain to me again why boys make excuses for their dirty thoughts?

Another rousing matter is why girls look equally good in guy clothes while boys look like trash in girl clothes. If you see a girl wearing bowler hats or baggy pants, it won't obstruct anything that much at all. But if you see a guy wearing hot pink camisoles and thongs, well, you might want to reconsider dating that dude.

And why are there more homosexual guys than girls? Is there a greater possibility of hypothalamus defectiveness or pituitary malfunction in men than in women? I am not judging those gays out there, so to speak. It's a mystery to me, mind-boggling, why guys can't control the urge and be what they are physically made to be. They are not born to have breasts or anything below the waist. There are lesbians in the world. But gays toll over the number of lesbians alright.

I have high opinions with the guys I know, though. Guys like my dad. Guys like my best friend Luke. Guys like Steven – the nice bartender I've met from New Orleans. Guys like Percy, though I'm still musing about it due to my previous annoyance.

There is truancy of real boys in the world, shockingly so. And I'm not saying that each boy in the world should change. But come on; are there girls on this not-so-green planet like me that don't find smoking weed and asshole-ism attractive?

I am too absorbed with my own long-winded monologue that I barely hear the door open.

"Hey, Annabeth," Percy says.

_Hey,_ I respond dryly.

Oh yeah. I guess I haven't mentioned why I was frustrated with him before. He said that he didn't understand why girls can act weird sometimes, why girls expect guys to be perfect through and through. And the word _perfect_ being defined as cocky, insensitive, athletic and all-around generic. That's stupid. I believe all girls aren't like that. Well, at least I'm not like that. There's a difference between _perfect_ and _stereotype_, thank you very much.

"Uh, we're going to watch a movie," he says. "It's called _Freedom Writers_. Rented it out from a DVD store across the street and I know you're bored so…"

He plugs in the disk, the sound blaring from the stereo.

I do not actually watch since I can't open my eyes. So I just settle with the voices – I've been getting used to it since Sally uses the television here frequently.

After the movie, he freshens up and apologizes for what he said yesterday. He didn't mean to offend me, really, though he admits that he wasn't afraid that he might have offended me because he knows I have a pretty thick skin.

I guess I should take that as a compliment.

He's been doing some thinking, and he knows some girls that do not regard jackasses as appealing.

"Yeah," he mutters, listening to my heart rate monitor. "I'm reevaluating my statement. And I'm considering that you don't like jackasses, either."

Damn straight.

Percy chuckles to himself. "So tell me. Or at least show me. Am I a jackass?"

I roll my eyes. I've already seen this one coming.

Well, if there's one boy in this planet that isn't monotonously generic and despicable at the same time, it would be him.

~0~

"You're thinking you left it here?" a voice calls out in the pitch blackness in my dreams. I don't recognize the voice. I hear some loud clucking, probably something metallic hitting a floor.

"I _know_ I left it here," another voice stresses. This one I recognize. It's Percy's voice. "It's got to be in here somewhere –"

"With all due respect, Jackson, you're nuts. Leaving your mother's wedding invitation cards in her patient's room."

"Grover?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you please shut up and help me look? I don't find your babbling a morale booster, you know."

"Sorry."

Percy and the boy – Grover – are looking for some invitation cards in my room. Another one of those random dreams I've been getting quite occasionally.

"It's not in the cabinets, Perce," Grover says.

"It's got to be in here somewhere…"

"Well it's not just gonna pop out of nowhere and float to your hand when you're just gonna stand there and stare at her."

Percy bristles. "I wasn't staring. I was… trying to remember where I left that bag."

They are silent for a moment. All I hear are the usual movement of chairs, and the metal clanging on the floor.

"She's weird, isn't she?"

"Bad idea."

"What? What did I say?"

"I'm just saying that it's a bad idea, Percy."

"And I'm just saying that she's weird. Where's the bad in it?"

"She's your mother's patient."

"Your point being?"

"I don't think it's… normal. Even for you, and you're the least normal person I've ever met."

"What do you mean not normal? All I said is that she's weird and – oh no. No, no, Grover. You're insane, you know that?"

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking. And no, I don't have… anything with her. You're right; she's my mother's patient."

"You just said she's weird."

"And so? Is weird some new euphemism for sexy or beautiful? Like bad is good or fat is good? Then what the hell does good mean?"

Grover snorts delicately.

"Aha! There it is!"

Grover's laugh booms. "You're out of your knickers, Percy. I mean, seriously? Putting the invitations _beneath_ the girl's bed? What are you, eight?"

"I didn't want Mom to go frantic that I haven't mailed the invitations yet," Percy retorts, instantly defensive. "And the girl's name is Annabeth."

"See? Go and get a look at your face, Percy. You have a thing for her!"

Percy shushes him. "I don't have a 'thing' for her," he hisses venomously. "You're making it a big deal than it really is."

"You said she's cute."

"I said she's weird."

"You said it like you _think_ she's cute. And what? You don't really think she's cute?"

"Obviously, the girl is cute. You're just tricking me into saying I like her, in a not-so-good unprofessional way. I do like her. And I mean as a friend."

"You still haven't met," Grover pointed out.

Percy shrugged. "Words don't offer the same connotations per se."

"Looks like someone's been hogging the thesaurus. Trying to impress someone?"

"Shut up, Grover."

Grover chuckles. "Well, you're brilliant. And I'm using brilliant as a euphemism."

"Can we get out of here?"

He laughs again. "Yeah. It's nearly eight. Momma's making turkey and enchiladas for dinner."

"What is with you Underwoods that you like enchiladas so much?" Percy says bemusedly, chuckling.

"Well, it's a long story. Now come on. If your mother catches us in here, we're dead."

After that, I don't hear anything anymore.

I guess that is the end of my dream. Tomorrow, I'll wake up with no recollection of it whatsoever.

Dreams suck.

~0~

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><p><strong>AN: As you've noticed, I've been posting chapters quite longer than the first to make up for my irregular updating. Thanks to all those who read this and would share their honest, uncensored thoughts.**

**I'm happy to announce that Of Cuts and Pills won a Verita for Best A.U. Thank you very, very much to all those who voted for it and now I am finally proud for something I've written. It's not brilliant but all the same. At least I'm glad to know it has achieved enough swag points to snag an award.**

**Hope this story has enough swag too, though.**

**Oh, and thank you to those who reviewed and favorited _How A Heart Holds On, _my tribute for the 9/11 attacks. My sympathies to everyone who lost someone and have had their lives changed because of it.**

****Review, please! Constructive criticisms and flames are also welcomed and much appreciated, don't be shy!****

**(I love Steve Nash)**


	6. Coming Out From The Red Hat

**A/N: I've been gone for more than a month. I know how you feel and I'm sure you all hate me for making you think I've already abandoned this story. The same goes for all the readers of Of Cuts and Pills. I'm terribly sorry.**

**I've been so busy with everything in my life right now that suddenly turned complicated than before. I'm turning 15 in a couple of days, so I guess my life may shuffle towards the **_**more-complicated-than-you-can-ever-imagine**_** scale, so yeah. Lucky me.**

**But I am lucky to have such readers like you. I've gotten dozens of PMs asking for updates about this story (I'll reply to all of you as soon as I can), and thank you all so much for the unwavering support. I love you all. And there's also someone who notified me about the next Verita Awards, and this story, if I was told correctly, has been nominated for Best A.U. Wow, guys. Thank you so much for everything. I'll try to update just as promised. Love you so much, dudes!**

**Special thanks to:**

**storyteller1425 – for being the oh-so amazing beta reader, author, and friend. In all my ups and downs as an author here, she's right there. Always. Check out her stories, please. She'll not let you down. You have my word, guys.**

**BeautifulEscapades 18 – I wish her a happy, happy birthday!**

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><p>~0~<p>

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 1 – The Beginning of A New End**

**Chapter 6: Coming Out From The Red Hat**

Sally Jackson's wedding is tomorrow.

Oh and she wouldn't be Sally Jackson any more. She will be Sally Blofis. Mrs. Blofis. With the capital B.

"No way I'm changing my surname to Blofis, mom," Percy says. "I have been a Jackson for nineteen years. My name is Percy Jackson in all of my school records, college applications and even my dentist appointment records."

Okay. Recap. So Percy Jackson, or should I say _Perseus _Jackson (weird first name, right? Sally has a fetish for Greek mythology), is currently whining about his last name. He doesn't want to change it, saying that if he'll lose the Jackson, he'll lose his whole identity. Talk about melodrama.

Besides, a child borne and born out of matrimony shall keep the mother's former surname. That's basic.

"I would be called Percy Blofis. Come on, Mom. You've got to admit. Paul's last name sucks," he continues to gripe. "People would make fun of me behind my back and call me Percy Blowfish – "

"Alright, alright. You will not be changing your last name if you don't want to," Sally tells her son, which is a relief because Percy gripes worse than a toddler.

The door opens. "Congratulations, doctor," Dad says, out of breath. Must have been out jogging.

My father wheezes. "Damn, the elevators were jammed." Oh. Okay. That too.

"Looking good, Mr. Chase," Percy says.

Dad laughs weakly. "Thanks, kid."

I'm amazed at how Dad and Percy started warming up to each other after that whole uh…'heart-to-heart' talk about a month ago. Percy said that my father's cool, not too uptight, dresses a little funny with that aviator cap of his and is bananas about history. Have I mentioned my dad's a history professor here in New Jersey? Anyways, Dad told me that Percy seems to be, and I quote, _a nice young gentleman. But unscholarly and too modest. He doesn't know how to sell himself. Don't worry sweetums. You're too good for him._

Which proves my point that Dad and Percy _have_ been talking behind my back.

I kind of feel embarrassed that Dad thinks I'm 'too good' for Percy. Almost every father thinks that their daughter is' too good' for any boy. I guess that's why Dad seems to relax around him more because he knows that there's like zero point five percent chance that Percy and I would ever date.

I therefore conclude that Dad's just wasting his energy worrying about him not being the only guy in my world.

Reason? I'm in a coma, for god's sake! Dating is the last thing going around my mind, Dad. Take a chill pill and go make a rampant rant about Napoleon Bonaparte.

Besides, I never had any experience in dating and obviously, Percy has his own bad record to worry about.

Even though Percy's a great guy and honestly, I can see why the nurses here think he's the coolest thing since Jersey Shore, I don't know why Dad sees Percy as a potential threat.

Oh yeah. I guess I haven't mentioned that the nurses here love flirting with Percy. Which is disgusting since Percy's nineteen and the nurses here are in their late twenties and thirties. Really cougar. I want to blast the shit out of that Claire girl who, by the way, sounds so much like a well-paid and well-used hooker. If I was a nurse here, I would keep the littlest amount of dignity I have left and _not_ flirt with nineteen-year-old Percy.

In theory, Percy must be a good-looking one if Claire and the rest of her goons can't keep their hands to themselves. Well, Claire didn't use the word 'good-looking' actually. She said he was… hot. And god, she even told me while she was refilling my IV that she pitied me because I'm just sprawled across the bed, doing nothing except breathing while Percy's talking to me about stuff and doing his homework. If I weren't in a coma, I should be grabbing his collar and smashing my lips to his, doing some 'hardcore fucking' like she would have done.

A lust-driven nurse. I would like it very much if I fire her.

But har har to Nurse Claire of cougar town, Percy is clearly not interested in her.

In my mind, Percy's starting to look like Luke. Ridiculous. They are nothing alike. I banish the image in my head.

I drown out their conversation about florists and churches and sitting arrangements – all of the necessities in the Blofis-Jackson wedding.

My dad says goodbye, saying that he's going downstairs to get a cup of coffee.

"Too bad Annabeth can't come," Sally says as the door closes. "I would like her very much to be one of my flower girls. Or probably one of my bridesmaids."

"You know, Rachel wasn't happy when I asked her to be the flower girl," Percy chuckles. "No offense, but she hates the theme you guys picked, Mom. She hates the pink dress that she has to wear. The only compensation I offered her is that Grover's going to be one of the groomsman."

Sally gracefully thanks him, "Tell Rachel that it was nice of her to reconsider."

Who's Grover? I don't know him, but I vaguely remember I've heard of him before. And who's Rachel?

"I haven't seen those two with you in a while," her tone suddenly turned serious.

"What d'you mean, Mom? I see them every other weekend."

"Percy, honey. I think you've been spending too much of your time around her."

My stomach suddenly drops. Wait. Are they talking about me?

"What?" Percy exclaims. "No, Mom. Is this about Rachel again – "

"This isn't about Rachel. Well, partly. I think you're spending too much of your time here in the hospital."

"I promised her dad that I wouldn't leave her."

"I know, dear. But you shouldn't be sacrificing your own friends just for Annabeth. Rachel and Grover are your friends – "

"Jeez, Mom! Annabeth's my friend too," Percy interjects. "I've already told them about her. They said they understand why I'm around here most of the time. I'm not losing contact with whatever friends I still have, Mom."

"But sooner or later you will. Percy, I know that you're concerned about Annabeth. And I'm really glad that you've somehow… connected with one of my patients. All I'm asking you is to balance your time between your friends. Rachel and Grover need you."

He falls silent for a while. "They've been talking to you, haven't they?"

Sally sighs. "They're concerned. And so am I. I am not telling you to stay away from Annabeth because I know you will never do that. You're already in too deep. I can see the way you look at her. And don't you deny it," she interrupts when Percy started to object.

"You're my son. I can tell whether you're happy or not," she tells him. "If you're happy then I'm happy. Just keep yourself balanced and don't forget your other friends. Don't sacrifice the rest of the world just for one person. Not even for me."

"I won't," Percy mumbles, his throat tight.

"Be it as your wedding gift to me and Paul," Sally pats him on the shoulder.

Percy sighs exasperatedly and I know in that instant, he'll do whatever she says. "I'm happy for you and Paul, Mom," he mutters, changing the subject. "And I'll understand if you want me to change my surname to Blofis."

At that, Sally laughs, knowing that her son wouldn't disappoint her on her request.

Which means Percy would not be coming here for the next few weeks.

~0~

I was right. Percy still hasn't dropped by since the day after the wedding.

He told me that it went great. There were lots of people who attended; most of them were the hospital staff and Paul's co-teachers. Percy devoured almost every single dish served by the caterers and he even tried to drink some strong wine which didn't work out too well in his system. There were lots of drinking and dancing and hot girls. A lot of hot girls. We're not talking about Claire and her band of cougars. He even tried to hit on one – just for fun, he told me – and I was unreasonably glad that his flirting went badly. He almost puked at all the romance (typical guy talk meaning he thought of weddings as bland and obsolete).

But that was it. He didn't come after that.

Not that I was angry at Sally for banning – that word is a slight exaggeration – Percy to visit. She's right after all. I do think that Percy and I are getting a little too… attached? No, that's not it. I chant inside my head that Sally's right. She's the mother. She's the doctor. She knows what she's doing.

I should just accept the fact that I'm just a comatosed girl and that her son is better off without me.

"You're crazy, Rach," a boy's voice squeaks, fiddling with the doorknob. He's arguing with someone with him, the other one's voice is unfamiliar to me.

"I'm just going to talk to her," a girl says. "Would you relax?"

"What d'you mean talk to – she's in a coma! She's paralyzed, nearly dead –"

"I know she is," the girl hisses. "Now stop being an idiot and let me pass."

"Percy doesn't even know we're here."

She snorts. "Percy's not the boss of me. Come on, Grover. Let me through – "

"Fine," the guy, Grover, opens the door for her. "But leave me out of this."

"Gladly."

I hear the door slam shut.

And then silence.

The girl clears her throat. "Uh, hi."

If the other guy's name is Grover, I'm betting my dollar that this girl standing before me is Rachel.

"My name's Rachel." Wow. I'm really good.

"You must be Annabeth. Percy's told me a lot about you."

So this is Rachel. She's the girl Percy ditched – slight exaggeration – me for. I hear her take a seat – Percy's seat – next to me.

She sighs. "I'm not going to prattle anymore so I'll go straight to the point to why I'm here."

Oh. Good, then.

She takes in a breath. "I'm in love with Percy Jackson."

~0~

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Cliffhanger? You got that right. I know it's not enough to cover for all the time I've kept you waiting. Sorry, guys. But I'll try to update soon. Just hope that I won't get stuck in any craphole along the way.**

**To the OCAP readers: Update's coming soon, guys.**

**Thanks for reading and please review! Any sort of praising, advice-giving, and bashing is welcomed and appreciated. **


	7. An Unexpected Spill

**A/N: Been gone two months and made a totally irritating cliffhanger. I'm sorry for being such a lousy writer and updater. I'm like dying every day just to get my hands on my computer and just write, but sadly the teachers would never let me have that pleasure now, wouldn't they?**

**Special thanks to:**

**storyteller1425 – I have got to learn how to manage my time. I've barely kept in touch with you and with all the other fanfiction authors in this archive, and I'm sorry. I'm supposed to read and review your latest Maximum Ride story (I'm expecting a lot from it. *winks, winks*). And thank you so much for the always lovely beta-reading work. People are probably jealous that I have you for my partner in crime. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>~0~<p>

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 1 – The Beginning of A New End**

**Chapter 7: An Unexpected Spill**

_I'm in love with Percy Jackson._

Rachel's words ring loud and clear in my ears. A hot, searing flame slashes through me, engulfing my whole body senseless. My heart monitor beeps vociferously but Rachel doesn't notice.

"I've known him since we were fourteen. We used to go to the same school, and he's so… you know. I don't have the right words to describe him to you."

Without meaning to, I get angry. Maybe she doesn't know it, but she's stressing the fact that she's known Percy first. That she has the better claim. My mind drenches in the weight of swirled emotions. I have no valid reason to be angry with her. Percy is not my anything.

But I got angry anyway. I got angry and… jealous. Fiercely and absurdly jealous. I am not unintelligent enough not to know the reason why I am acting like a hot and jealous chick. I just can't accept it.

"I know you've never seen him. But if you did, I'm sure you'll know what I'm talking about. He has this thick, shaggy, black hair that goes too long sometimes whenever he forgets to get a haircut once a month. He's quite tall and his eyes…" she pauses, clearing her throat from the pressure. "His eyes have this lovely shade of green."

The way she describes him with devotion makes me feel, for the first time in months, defeat.

Luke's image instantly vanishes, my mind displaying a new vision of Percy. All this time I have pictured him looking like my best friend. I have pictured him looking like those surfers at the coast back home. But now, with the black hair and the green eyes, the Percy in my mind seems so tangible. Real.

I grudgingly thank Rachel for that.

"I do hope you'll open your eyes someday and see him for yourself," Rachel's voice grew gentle.

The yearning to see him for myself intensifies.

"You're prettier than me," she sighs sadly. "I guess that's one of the reasons why Percy likes you. I won't lie. I'm absolutely jealous. And I am sorry if I am. I just can't help it."

_And I'm sorry, _I want to say to her, _that I'm angry at you. I just can't help it too._

I can't deny that Rachel _does_ have the better claim: she knew Percy since they were kids, she knows everything about him, and yes, she already met him face to face.

I want to tell Rachel that she has nothing to be jealous about. That I should be the one who's jealous.

"Percy's drawn to you. He's never been like that. Even with his past girlfriends. And for the past few weeks he's been acting weird all of a sudden. Distracted. I know he's itching to get to this room all this time, even though he adamantly denies it. He's too stubborn to admit that he likes you – "

I don't want to listen to Rachel anymore. Percy would never… I can feel my lungs starting to get a little heavier.

"Percy's too oblivious to the obvious. Every time he says no, I always want to give him a nice smack on the face. Expect him to go red and spontaneously combust whenever he denies," she chuckles in spite of herself, knowing how much of a douche Percy can be sometimes.

"I'm not saying he's obsessed about you. He's nothing like that. It's hard to explain. _He's_ hard to explain. He should say it to you himself. But," she gathers her wits, trying to clear away the lodge in his throat. "Whenever he talks about you, you can see it in his eyes as plain as day. What I'm saying is… Percy loves you, Annabeth."

She catches herself, finding the strength in her to continue. To my relief, she doesn't cry. I don't know what I would do if Rachel started sobbing her eyes out, and for that I am grateful. My anger abates a little.

A huge part of me does not want to believe what she's saying. It's unfathomable. Percy can't possibly… love me. Even thinking of that 'L' word makes me shiver. I don't want to believe Rachel. I don't trust her judgment. How can she possibly know his feelings for me? How can she know if he even _has_ feelings for me? She said it herself. He never said it out loud.

But I'm Annabeth Chase. I am selfish and vain, and I always will be. I feel like a miser – greedy, hoarding someone else's love.

And I realize that I don't deserve Percy.

"Everyone knows it. He's just blind not to know, and he always diverts to anything just to avoid embarrassing emotional displays. But he does love you. I'm sure of it. Just as I'm sure that I'll love him anyway. Even if he's yours, I still will," she says in a small voice. The more she concedes, the more I feel selfish. The more she shows her capability to love unconvntionally, no matter how ridiculous and unpractical it sounds to give someone up for love, the more I hate myself.

This is the first time anyone has ever confessed to me like this, so I'm probably overreacting. But who wouldn't be, especially if a random girl sits next to your hospital bed, saying '_Hi! The guy I like is in love with you but it's okay. Can we be friends instead?'_?

Yeah, my life is a knockoff straight from every teenage girl's fantasy chick lit.

"I hope you'll open your eyes," she says, pleading. "Please. For Percy. He's dying for you to wake up," there's a smile in her voice and I hear the sudden slap on my skin, her hands encasing my own. "And for me, too. Maybe we might not see eye to eye, but I know we'll be great friends."

I don't feel it, but she squeezes my hand. "I know Percy loves you, and I know that there's a great possibility that you'll love him back. I promise I won't get in the way between the two of you. But if something happens, if some miracle happens, if there's a possibility that _he _might love me _back, _would you extend the same courtesy to me, no matter what happens?"

At that, I have an answer. Now I am more than happy if someone kills me or if a meteor hits this room from outer space – sparing Rachel, of course – or anything. Anything at all that might end my life. Because I see now that I'm better off dead. I'm wreaking havoc in my Dad's life, stealing Rachel's only love, really messing up Percy… I can't believe I'm in a coma and I'm still a liability. God, the universe really wants to prove that I'm a horrible person even if I'm half dead.

But before I die, I want to squeeze Rachel's hand and respond to her. I want to say that if Percy will love her back, and I'm sure he will, I will extend the same courtesy. Even if they get married, have babies together, grow old together… I will restrain myself from killing her and I promise not to sacrifice her entrails to Hitler. Because she deserves him. And he deserves her.

Percy's an idiot. Damn, that son of a bitch is an utter idiot for not noticing that his best friend is in love with him. If only I could strangle him right now.

And yes, this whole teenage angst is sapping the life out of me.

"Thanks, Annabeth," she says and I know she's heard me. "At first, I didn't understand Percy's fixation on you, why I'm losing him for a girl who's under a coma. I don't know why he tells you his secrets, his dreams and suddenly in seven months, you know him better than I do. But now that I've talked to you first hand, I must say that Percy's one lucky bastard. And you're lucky to have him."

She gives my hand one last squeeze before she stands up and departs.

"Don't make him do anything impulsive and stupid, Annabeth," she mutters, closing the door behind her.

I sigh. I can't promise her that one.

And I'm sure that if Percy decides to choose her instead of me, I'll be devastated.

Because nobody can help but fall into loving Percy Jackson.

~0~

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><p><strong>AN: I know I've done a short chapter and left you another cliffhanger, but I hope this was less frustrating than the former. Anyone out there who hates or hated Rachel Dare? Opinions regarding her and the story? Suggestions? I'll gladly hear you out on this one.**

**Just in case it would get me more than two months to update, here's a preview of Chapter Eight: The Closing:**

_It all comes spiraling down, dawning to me. And it all suddenly clicks._

_"I know she's been visiting you with Grover when I'm not around."_

_I want to tell him that Rachel has visited me only once, twice if you count today. Besides the fact that she told me she's helplessly in love with him and that she's jealous of whatever's going on between the two of us and that she vows she wouldn't blast me to bits when he picks me, Percy's got nothing to worry about._

_"Why aren't you awake? Why don't you speak to me? Today's my birthday. You promised me, right?" there was sadness in his voice. Today is the day I'm supposed to wake up. I will my eyes to flutter. Nothing._

**Thank you very much for sparing this story some time. Thank you for your reviews and constant praises, advice, and encouragement. Thank you so much to all those who wished me a happy birthday, and may this be a blessed year for everyone. ****Please review! Constructive criticism, flames, and praises are warmly welcomed with the same degree.**


	8. The Closing

**A/N: Okay, so here's here. I am definitely sorry about this super late post. I will not bore you with the whats and whys of me not being able to write anymore right now. I have my profile to explain everything. So yeah. To all my readers, please check it out for my not-so-full-blown apology.**

**Special thanks to:**

**storyteller1425 – my super amazing beta reader. She's ultimately the best I'd worked and had fun with in this site, and I'm really sad that maybe this would be the last story I'd be posting with her in it. In a totally irrelevant note, please check our her stories!**

~0~

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 1 – The Beginning of A New End**

**Chapter 8: The Closing**

Well. I should be celebrating today, along with the Jackson-Blofis family, along with the bimbo nurses, along with Thalia and Nico, along with my Dad, along with Rachel and Grover.

Today is Percy's twentieth birthday.

I can tell he's been leering like a Cheshire Cat, walking down the hospital hallways, having everyone greet him a majestic birthday. Percy's popular here because, besides his mother being a doctor and all, he once played with the MRI when he was nine, destroying a couple of equipment out of youthful innocence.

He doesn't throw a party. He says that he doesn't have many friends to invite over to his house for a party. Instead, he hangs out here in my room with Sally, Rachel and Grover. They say they don't want me missing out on all the fun, which is sort of flattering if the given circumstances aren't so depressing.

From snippets of their conversation, I make an assumption of Rachel and Grover's personalities.

Since I've already talked to Rachel a few weeks ago, she wasn't that hard to figure out. She's smart with a snarky exterior like mine, but she's sweet and nice and an all-around American girl. She's an artist and knows a thing or two in architecture – that makes me hate her a little less. She's one of those rich girls without the snobby attitude. Her father, a real estate tycoon, owns the Dare Enterprises. And from what I heard, Rachel hates him. From what Grover said, Rachel has frizzy red hair and green eyes and her clothes are smothered with caricatures and marker doodles.

Grover's not that hard to describe either. Loyal, soft, shy. The usual introverted kid without the emo crap. He's a vegetarian – I highly respect vegetarian dudes – and he's an environmental activist like Rachel. Like Percy, he can be impulsive. Unlike Percy, he has a girlfriend named Juniper. And she's coming over to greet Percy a happy birthday. Percy describes him as a guy with a wispy beard on the tip of his chin and scrawny, much to Grover's protests. He's a cripple. He had an infraction when he was kid: Pulmonary Embolism. He was misdiagnosed so he wasn't treated properly and had muscle death. Ever since Percy and Grover became friends, Sally started treating him so he would feel less pain in his thighs.

They eat cake, ice cream, spaghetti, pepperoni pizzas. Booze isn't allowed inside the hospital premises so no one goes home drunk and brainless.

I hear the clock ticking when silence envelopes the room after Percy shuts down the television. He's staying around until midnight, with his mom and my dad's permission. They want to overindulge him a little bit today. After all, today is his birthday.

He is silent for a long time.

Come to think of it, he's been acting very weird lately. He doesn't talk much whenever he comes over. Once, he went in without saying a word and then he muttered something inaudible, and then left. I don't get it. Something must have happened between those weeks that he hadn't been visiting me, and I'm still mulling it over to find out.

I wasn't expecting the words that fleeted from his mouth.

"Rachel's been talking to you, hasn't she?" he mutters. It all comes spiraling down, dawning to me. And it all suddenly clicks.

"I know she's been visiting you with Grover when I'm not around."

I want to tell him that Rachel has visited me only once, twice if you count today. Besides the fact that she told me she's helplessly in love with him and that she's jealous of whatever's going on between the two of us and that she vows she wouldn't blast me to bits when he picks me, Percy's got nothing to worry about.

"Why aren't you awake? Why don't you speak to me? Today's my birthday. You promised me, right?" there was sadness in his voice. Today is the day I'm supposed to wake up. I will my eyes to flutter. Nothing.

Percy sits next to me. I don't feel the pressure of his hand on mine, but I know he's holding it. That thought explodes within me as my heart races with itself again.

"Annabeth," he whispers. The way he said my name makes me nervous, sending tingles down my spine. I know I don't love him, but it's getting fairly close.

All I know is that I want to curl in my happiness and frustration. The two are familiar companions, both of them are my constant, nagging impulses whenever he's around me.

"Annabeth," he whispers again, this time a little bit closer in my ear and my heart pounds frantically. I feel its every beat cracking my ribs, and god, if he's going to keep on doing that, I might actually lose it and never wake up again.

"You're driving me crazy, you know that?" he groans in frustration and I groan with him. That's where he's wrong. He's the one that's driving me crazy!

He sighs in defeat. "You're driving me crazy, and you're not even doing anything. You're just lying here with your eyes closed and all I can do is wonder what's going on in your head, and I think if you actually wake up, you'll be driving me up the wall in complete insanity that my mom has to lock me inside a rubber room and kill me.

"And I don't know how you can possibly do this to me," he says. "But I don't care. I just want you to wake up, Annabeth. I don't care if you're messing me up because I like it somehow. I don't care if I'll be a lunatic when you wake up. Because at least I'll be a lunatic with you. I know I shouldn't sound like a shitty hormonal teenage boy because I'm already twenty. It doesn't matter. I want you to wake up because I don't know if you like Mandela over Churchill. I don't know your favorite book, your favorite color, your favorite ice cream flavor. I've never even heard the sound of your voice. I hadn't seen your eyes either. All I know is that they're gray and perhaps they look a thousand times better than just seeing them in a picture. Just open your eyes, Annabeth," he says. "Just open your eyes."

This is by far, the most I've ever heard Percy rant. I force myself to open my eyes, will my body to move. Just so that I'll see him for the first time and tell him –

"I love you, Annabeth."

I feel my heart suddenly stop.

_I –_

My head starts spinning. I can feel a flash of vertigo coming. My heart finds it beat again, chugging triple time.

There are no words to describe the exact feeling I have dwelling in me. Whatever it is, it will just be an understatement.

"I love you," sincerity and sureness rings in his voice. "Please open your eyes and wake up. I feel so stupid saying this to you but it's true. And I'm sure of it."

I argue with myself, wanting to respond to him. Wanting to, at least, not keep him hanging anymore.

I want to say yes.

Percy. I love yo-

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

My BP rattles erratically.

"Annabeth?"

My lungs go tight. I sense my chest heave.

I can't breathe.

~0~

A monitor beeps when I convulse. My throat's on fire and I feel like clamming up.

I get my wish. I'm going to die.

"Shit," Percy mouths articulately. "You're not breathing." His hands fly to my sheets, throwing them to the side, and starts pumping his hands on my chest.

"Oh my god, I hope my mom taught me enough to do this. Nurse!" he yells, continuing to force my lungs to do the bidding, up and down, up and down.

I hear a muffled sound of the door opening. I am starting to lose consciousness. I imagine myself gripping tighter on the rails, on the mattress, onto Percy, onto everything that's physical, real. My heart rate slows down.

"What are you doing?" my dad bellows loud enough just for me to slip back to consciousness for a few precious seconds.

"CPR," Percy growls. "I'm trying to save your daughter. Somebody get me a goddamn nurse!"

"Her BP is dropping –," someone says. I do not know whose voice it is anymore. I'm slipping.

And then, my mouth feels hot. I can't move but I feel someone's lips on mine. Air travels down my throat, down my lungs. Gaining once again the sensation of touch seems to be little victory to me, because the artificial respiration's not working. My lungs are rebelling against me.

I'm dying.

I don't even notice Percy being pulled away from my side.

I now have a small unsure glimpse of what lies ahead.

I hope my organs are still okay. Maybe Dad would give away my lung to someone who can't breathe. Drain the blood from me and put it in a blood bank or ship it to Red Cross. Give my eye to the blind so they could have a chance to see the world. Rip out my heart and let someone take it, because even if I can't die with dignity, at least some part of me will still live with dignity and I know that that someone would take care of it.

The last eight months have been the most meaningful in my life, and it is all I remember as the nurses frantically fumble over my body that's only seconds away from death. My past forgotten, my future unknown and forever will be unknown, the present bestowed upon me on a silver platter and is all I think about as I die.

I think about rollerblading with Thalia in Central Park. I won't be there anymore to accompany her but she'll have a new playmate with her now that I'll be gone. I think about Luke who's in Switzerland. I think about the time when I choked while eating sushi and he had to do the Heimlich maneuver on me so that I could breathe again. But I know there's no kind of maneuver that's going to save me now. I hope he's doing well and he'll achieve his dreams.

I think about Dad. Even though it might take weeks or months, or even years, I know he's going to be okay. Besides. I'll be seeing Mom again. I think about Grover. I hope he's going to star in a marathon like he's always wanted. I think about Sally and Paul and may their marriage be as blessed as I hope it would be. I think about Rachel, and now, she can finally have a world with her one true love, a world without me in it. I know they'll be perfectly happy with each other. And I realize I don't hate her anymore.

I think about Percy. The first guy who showed me how imperfect I am, how imperfect he is, how imperfect everything is in the world but isn't all that bad. The first guy who got past my façade and tried to know what I was really thinking. The first guy who knew me even if I won't say or do a thing. The first guy I've ever loved more than just my doctor's son. The first guy whom I've ever loved more than just a friend. And apparently, the last guy that I'll love.

I think about Mandela and Churchill. About my favorite book. My favorite color. My favorite ice cream.

And I black out.

~0~

**A/N: Thank you for reading. Please review!**


	9. The Opening

~0~

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 1 – The Beginning of A New End**

**Chapter 9: The Opening**

"Clear!"

My teeth chatter in shock, my whole body bouncing upwards and crashing back down. Electricity pulses inside my body like radar.

"Give me more juice. One eighty. Clear!"

A buzz clatters, ringing in my ears. I feel shock as electricity moves inside and out. My muscles tingle. My heart restarts. I can feel the blood hot and pumping in my ears. I suck in precious air as gloved hands start measuring the pulse on my neck.

"Breathing is stabilized."

My chest heaves up and down in rhythm and I ball my fists.

I open my eyes.

~0~

**A/N: Coming Soon: Part 2 - Partly Awake. Thank you for stopping by! Please review! Constructive criticism, flames, and praises are very much welcome.**


	10. Tricks of The Eye

~0~

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 2 – Partly Awake**

**Chapter 10: Tricks Of The Eye**

The sudden light blinds me for a fraction of a second.

I have to admit that the first person I look for is Percy. It is odd, not to mention moronic. It should have been my father who I should be looking for, maybe Thalia. Looking for family first is the most sensible act. But my eyes dart back and forth, my fingers twitching in unease, looking for any sign of Percy.

Love can really twist you in knots, can't it?

I manage to crack a smile but it vanishes almost as fast as it came. I try my best to settle the dryness in my throat but not a sound escapes.

I see Dad sleeping on a small couch. His head inclines at what I think is a not so comfortable angle. His deep breathing, the appearance that he is dreaming, signifies that everything is okay. That I'm alive and well. That my almost dropping dead was just a nightmare. And nothing more.

Everything I feel is new. The sheets feel soft like velvet. I start to stroke it lovingly with my fingers, happy with the sensation that I can feel again.

But something is wrong.

With this new sensation, I feel something isn't quite right. Whether if it's the air revolving around me or if it's the uncertainty of someone else's presence, I can feel it.

I stand up from my bed.

Somehow, I don't feel the tubes that should be attached to my skin. I slip the thought at the back of my head and head towards the sleeping man in front of me.

"Hey, Dad," I whisper to him. "It's me. I'm awake."

Dad continues his slumber in dreamland, perfectly unaware of his own daughter awakening from a coma. "Dad. It's Annabeth." For a second, I thought he would rouse but he just fidgets and snoozes again. His lips are pursed in a way that makes me smile to myself. Finally, our whole ordeal has passed.

I try waking him again, but he just mutters something unintelligible. I shrug and leave him be. I am not ready for a teary reunion, either.

Something tells me that I should get out. Instinctively, I walk towards the door. The door is made of oak, I mentally note. Getting my sight back means I should be more observant from now on.

Down the stairs I go. The smell of some unnamed substance makes me crinkle my nose. I have always resented hospitals. Ever since my mother died, I did not like the smell of… dying people. Such as myself, I admit. But I feel better now. Much lighter. Free.

After I've gone three flights of stairs, with a slap at my forehead, I remember my clothing. I am in a ridiculous hospital gown that I should be considered as naked. I am barefooted across the tiled floor, adding to the absurdity of the situation.

My eyes dart in confusion. Why am I not being called out by the skirting officials? I mean, they're practically everywhere. And yeah, some patient walking around the premises would surely attract attention, strange as it is. But no. No one pays any attention to a girl wearing a ridiculous robe wandering around the hallways and who, by the way, just woke from a coma. Some guy practically ran over me when I pranced at the second level.

Hmm. I must be stealthier than I thought.

I then try asking around, but no one seems to have heard me. "Hello?" I breathlessly say to a nurse pushing a cart towards a closet. But she disappears into the room before I can say anything more. Is everyone here deaf?

Think, Annabeth. Think.

I try the lobby. Again, no one takes notice of me, which I find weird. It's like no one can really see me. Or hear me. What the hell's going on?

"Yeah. It's been eight days. Not a change in her vital signs. They say she's going to be transferred… No. I don't know, Rach. She's – I don't know what's happening."

The sound of this voice makes me petrified. My jaws start to lock, my breathing speeds up. Memories of that fateful evening start to flow back and I deter from betraying any hint of emotion on my face.

A boy wearing a gray sweatshirt and jeans is sitting near the edge of a couch divider. His phone is pressed against his ear, mumbling more words in a whisper. He turns.

And at that, I finally see his face.

I don't know if I really should delve into detail. Rachel described Percy fair enough. Black hair, green eyes, slightly above-average height and build. In other words, he is handsome.

I have seen a lot of people who are more handsome than Percy. But there's a certain kind of charm, something in his eyes, his face, the way he looks at me, the way he spoke my name that makes me uneasy and gulp, like he is way up there and I'm too low to deserve anything from him.

And it scares me, how I react to this boy who somehow saved my life. It isn't… natural. Though I should have expected this, I am frightened at the fact that Percy Jackson now owns me, whether he knows this or not.

He stops talking, his mouth slightly open. I may have laughed at that but I am too caught up with the prospect that I can finally see him. And he can see me.

I continue to stare at his face, motionless as I can be.

"Uh, Rachel?" Percy speaks to his phone. "I'll have to call you back." He hangs up and pockets his phone, his eyes not leaving mine.

"Annabeth?" he says, not more above than a whisper.

I visibly flinch. His voice is so familiar it makes my chest ache.

He sees my unease and an expression of hurt spreads across his face. He stands up and saunters his way towards me. My hands start to get clammy and I curse. No. Not now.

"You're awake," he says. No trace of happiness or relief resonates in his tone. But his expression is befuddled, like he couldn't believe I'm standing with two legs in front of him right now.

"It's me, Percy," he tells me. "You don't… remember?"

I say nothing. My throat still feels dry and I will hate myself if I started squeaking.

Percy's face contorts into pain. He then tries to introduce himself. "Uh, my name's Percy Jackson. I'm your doctor's son and I'm – "

"I know who you are." Tears start to roll down from my eyes. I'm pulling a pathetic show but I can't help myself. Everything. I remember everything that happened. Everything he said. Everything he's done for me. I am so relieved that I'm alive, that I've finally met Percy face-to-face… My shoulders shake from holding back a sob.

Around me, the nurses and the doctors just do what they do, paying no heed to us.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry. Your dad's going to kill me. Please don't cry. What did I do?" He starts stuttering like an idiot again, rushing towards me with haste, and I laugh. I remember how he used to do that when my heart rate started spiking and he would ramble on an apology, thinking it was his fault.

And I'm frightened again. I shouldn't be acting like this. I've only met him today, but I'm acting like we've known each other for years. Like this is some big, unexpected reunion with a long-lost friend.

Percy furrows his eyebrows, my sudden change of mood confusing him. I notice how his eyebrows knit together and how cute he looks when he does that.

I take his hand. The feeling makes me happy. Happy, because I have gained the ability to hold someone's hand again. Happy, because I am holding _Percy's_ hand.

I smile. "You know, you've always struck me as a surfer-looking kind of guy," I shrug. "I am not disappointed, though."

An odd expression crosses his face again. And then he chuckles. He wipes away the stray tear from my eyes and squeezes my hand. "It's a good thing you can remember me. I don't want to make a fool of myself and start from scratch again."

The relief in our eyes is prominent and I have to constantly remind myself from breaking down at the burst of emotions inside of me. His green eyes continue to bore in to mine and I do what I've always wanted to do.

I throw my arms around him.

He becomes stiff for a fraction of a second, surprised. Then he hugs me back. Relief starts to explode again. Everything is far behind now, completely beneath us. From Death's breath, I was taken back and granted a second chance. In Percy's arms, I am determined that I won't be wasting that chance.

"I thought I would never get to see you," Percy mutters.

Wet tears start to flow freely once again. "I can't believe it, too. I'm so… _happy_ to see you. And I've missed you so much… Does it make any sense?"

"No," he breathes a light laugh. "But I'm not going to complain."

"Percy?" Another familiar voice calls from his back. I immediately let go of my grip on Percy, flushing. He whirls around, sheepish as I am.

"Oh. Hi, Mom."

I smile awkwardly. A brown-haired woman with a lab coat draped around her arm is wearing a v-neck sweater that fits her snugly. Her eyes seem to glitter in a thousand facets. She is beautiful. And she is Percy's mother.

"Hello. It's really nice to finally meet you, Dr. Jackson," I say, offering a hand, a little relieved that I managed to repress the shaking in my voice.

To my surprise, she doesn't even glance at me.

Ignoring my outstretched hand, Sally Jackson looks over at his son. "What are you doing? Who are you talking to?"

"What?" I slowly retract my hand, perplexed.

She doesn't know who I am?

Percy, however, doesn't notice my inner skirmish. "I was just – uh – Mom! Annabeth's here!"

"Yes, Mr. Chase put up quite a fight with the dean. Annabeth will still be under our care until more debates continue flying up to a month – "

"No, Mom," Percy says. "She's awake!"

I fall confused. Sally keeps on staring at where Percy is pointing at – to where I am standing – but she just looks at it as if she's looking through me. As if she's staring at the thin air. Staring at something invisible. What's going on?

"I would have known if she woke up," Sally remarks. "My beeper would have gone off. And I just went to her room two minutes ago. What's wrong, Per-"

"No! She's right _here_!" Percy's voice hitches an octave. He points hysterically to where I am standing, grabbing my hand and all Sally can do is give him a look of concern. Most of the bystanders look at our way now.

Great. Now they stare?

A passing thought dawns to me. Suddenly, I arrive with an explanation.

"She can't see me," I say, not believing it myself. These four words make terrible sense but at the same time, it doesn't. "She can't see me, Percy."

He looks at me, deranged and confused. I am confused myself. Am I going crazy? Is this some kind of dream? Or am I dead? Why can Percy see me? Why can't anybody see me?

This doesn't make any sense…

"Your mom can't see me, Percy," I repeat anyway, this time with urgency. I don't understand it. But by the way people are looking at me, or at least, _not_ looking at me…

No. I'm not awake.

"Are you feeling alright?" Sally asks. She puts a hand on Percy's forehead but he shakes it off.

"Come on, Annabeth," Percy nudges me, still clinging to the belief that I am awake. That I am standing beside him, all flesh and smiles, meeting his mom, my doctor, for the first time. He wants me to shake hands with her but I don't even try holding my hand up, doubting that my body is even tangible.

Tears start flowing again. I'm… I'm still trapped. "No, Percy. She can't see me. I'm not – "

"Maybe you should rest, dear. You've been up late last night. Don't worry about Annabeth. She's going to be alright." Sally tells her son, leading him to the sofa. "I'll get you a glass of water."

Percy shakes his head like a mad person. "No! She's right here!"

"Percy – "

"Is this some kind of joke? She's your patient! You know what she looks like! She's right – Come on, Annabeth. Say something!"

I shake my head. I'm crying, still stuck at the aftershock. Saying anything doesn't change a thing. She can't hear me. Sally can't even hear me crying my eyes out right now.

Percy's face goes red, shaking his head again.

Sally hugs Percy tightly with one arm, kisses him lightly on the forehead and says, "Some pills might help." She stands up and leaves.

I sit with Percy, sobbing again. He just shakes his head over and over again, wondering why he's seeing a spirit of a girl while nobody else can.

~0~

**A/N: I'm kind of a bit surprised when I reread the whole story one more time. I can't believe how much my writing style has changed for more than a year, that I am somehow quite sure that I wasn't the one who typed this all down. Please review or comment! Your words are very much appreciated. **


	11. Not An Easy Fix

**A/N: Since I left you all with a big question mark last chapter, here's the fill-up. Thanks for reading guys and please leave review!**

~0~

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 2 – Partly Awake**

**Chapter 11: Not An Easy Fix**

I don't get it.

The same thought reels inside my head thousands of times. I don't get it. Why can no one see me? I don't get it. Why can Percy see me? I don't get it. Why can he hear me while no one else can?

"What is wrong with me asking for at least one normal thing in my life?" Percy asks himself, flexing and unflexing his hands. His knuckles turn white at the tension. I ask the same thing. What is wrong with me? What is wrong with us?

"Go away."

"What?"

"Go away," he says even louder, his eyes not leaving the concrete sky blue wall in front of us. His voice is weak, as if the words are forced to come clean from his mouth. "Just leave me. You're – You're not even here."

"No –"

"My imagination's running wild." He mutters again, and I'm getting the feeling that he's talking to himself more than he's talking to me. Trying to make some excuse for something that is impossible. I know what it feels like. I've been trying to make an excuse to why I'm even alive for eight months now and still, the answer has evaded me. I should feel sorry for him for being winded in a tight knot and I wish with every fiber of my being that I have the answers, but my irritation at him for being so laconic hasn't decapitated yet.

Percy shakes his head again. I notice the light in his eyes grow dark. Suddenly, he looks like somebody had him burned at a stake. I am starting to worry. It takes him a few minutes to stop pacing across the hallways. He drank too many a pills, and even then, he can still see me. It's starting to dawn on him, too, that I will not go away. That I can not go away.

"Why can't they see you?" he asks, anguished.

I don't answer. I'm still thinking about this outrageously outlandish prospect. I put up my hands and inspect them. They aren't transparent to me, at least. "Can you still see me?"

Percy gives me a hysterical look. I take that as a yes.

"What are we going to do?" I mumble.

He shakes his head. "I need a drink."

He starts to get up, but I yank him down to his seat. "You've been drinking?" I don't care, really, whether he's boozing or not. But he's wasting everything away and I envy him for being able to walk around and being actually _seen_ by other people. My body is five floors up while I'm turned into a spirit, floating around here in the lobby. I'm almost dead and he goes gallingly sashaying around public bars, wasting himself. "That doesn't help."

"Does it matter?" he says tersely. "Have you ever tried drinking in your life? Of course, I would know the answer. You're like an AM radio that's stuck in my head and I can't get you out."

I turn to him, my temper arising even more. Is he calling me a hallucination again? That I am a result of his… lack of amendment? It took a huge amount of my will power not to smack him hard on the face. I don't care if he'll feel it or not. The idea of hitting him will be a fine trade instead of killing him. "You're saying I'm not real?"

"Is there any other explanation as to why I'm seeing you? I'm having a nervous breakdown," Percy says in a dead voice. He shakes his head again. "I shouldn't be having a nervous breakdown."

I try not to be hurt. I get the logic, but still. Who wouldn't be fazed if someone called you a figment of his imagination and nothing more?

He sighs again. His expression looks pained. "What I'm saying is that I'm going crazy. Unless anyone offers another rational explanation to why I'm the only one who can see, hear, and feel you – "

"No," I shake my head. "No. There's got to be something else."

I shift through things that seemed plausible in my head. Nothing fits. No. Something else is at work here. Percy's thumbs dig on his sweatshirt. "Apocalyptic preambles? Effects of the paranormal? Divine intervention?"

Immediately, my brain answers the contrary, thinking how far-fetched and morbidly stupid all of it sounds. I tell him no. "Creative ideologies, maybe, but not factual enough to explain all this."

"So what, then?" he says. "You can't just wake up separated from your body like that."

"I don't know!" I exclaim. I have reached the borderline. I know, I know this isn't supposed to be possible. But what am I supposed to believe? It goes against the grain, having an _out-of-body_ experience.

I laugh sardonically at the collaterally damaged joke. All I can do is laugh even though nothing is humorous at the moment.

With nothing else to say, Percy burrows his face in his hands. I really feel sorry for him now. How hard it must be to take it all in? I mean, he did say he wanted to see me. But he didn't actually mean that he should be the only person in the world who could.

I take a deep breath. My hand slowly inch its way towards his and I hold it firmly as possible. His expression does not change when I hold him, but his lips twitch a fraction. It is subtle, but I see it.

I take his hand and, slowly, lead it towards my chest. Towards my heart. My beating heart.

"Do you feel that?" I ask him.

It takes him a second to answer. He nods. "Yes."

"Do you think this is an illusion? That I'm making this up? That _you're_ making this up?"

"No. I – I don't know –"

"Please, Percy. You have to help me. This isn't right." That is an understatement. I know – and I am sure – that being… detached to my worldly body is a thing of the paranormal. And god, I feel so helpless and weak…

I want to die. Please let me die. I beg. I plead. I don't want to stay like this – I'd rather die.

Let me die. Let me die. I cannot imagine anything worse than this. Being alive seems too much to ask for. I want to be dead, _finally_ dead.

To that, Percy doesn't answer. He settles with studying, with absolute calmness, the hospital walls. And then, he takes my hand and places it to his chest, exactly above his heart. The melodious beating of his heart makes me strangely calm; the tha-thumping of it makes me sigh involuntarily. We have a weird exchange: feeling each other's hearts. And my own prickles with fear, envy, happiness, and most of all, sadness.

He smiles. "I must be gifted or something, being able to see you and all. Like… having a third eye."

"I'm not dead." I frown. Well, not entirely dead.

"Yeah, but don't you think it's kinda cool that I'm with the supernatural? The next thing you know, pigs will fly."

I snort at that, but I'm really glad it lightened things up a bit. It's one of the things I like about him most: Percy can just brush off things and go with the flow, even at the craziest and hardest of times. This type of personality has a downside – a lot of downsides, if I may so graciously add – but now, I am more than grateful that he's accepting me without having a fit.

I can hear the clock starting to tick. I can feel I don't have much time left. I don't think I can delay the problem any further.

"I want to see her," I say.

"Who?"

"Annabeth. I mean, I want to see my body. Maybe I can put myself back in, put myself back together again."

"Like humpty-dumpty," he says, sighing. But he nods and leads me back to my room.

~0~

"I can't believe I'm seeing two of you. It's like you're twins –"

"Ugh. Enough with the spirit jokes, Percy. I'm trying to think." But no matter how hard I try racking myself, no idea sparks. I must have left my brain behind, too.

I look at myself, disgruntled. My skin looks like Japanese paper, crisp and white. The doctors have hooked me up with life support after my lung failure. I can't breathe on my own anymore. My body has grown weak, broken beyond repair. I couldn't be fixed anymore. No one can put me back together again.

I come over to the lifeless Annabeth. I touch her hand, trying to feel something there.

Percy shuffles uneasily behind me. "How – how do you get back?"

"I don't know," I admit. This is something completely beyond me. The laws of physics have failed me again.

"Lie down," he suggests. "You know, lie down at your body or something."

In any other circumstances, this idea might have been a no-brainer, but I am willing – desperate – to try anything. "Okay." I scoot over to the side of the bed and I lay my head to where the head of my body is, positioning me to where everything should be. I feel myself, the spirit, sinking at the body.

"Is it working?" I say.

It took more than a second before Percy answers. "Uh, no. Try concentrating. Make yourself stick to your body."

_Whoo_, I breathe out. Okay, Annabeth. You can do this. Just breathe in, breathe out.

One, two. One, two.

Connect with yourself…

Empty your mind…

Inhale, exhale.

Come on, come on.

You can do this, you can do this.

"I can't do it," I say, stepping away from my body. "I'm not sticking, Percy." I groan and peer at my status chart. "I'm not getting any better. If anything, my levels are decreasing."

I don't have to say the exact words.

I don't have that much time.

Any day now, the doctors would make Dad sign the papers. They're going to take me out of life support. Who knows how long I'd be staying?

I look over at Percy and, judging from his face, he's thinking the same thing.

Surprisingly, I don't cry. To me, it feels like I'm just going through a phase. Like a simple passing from middle school to high school. I'm trying not to see beyond that: the passing from life to death. I don't want to go over that again.

Percy takes my hand mutely and for a moment, I feel warmth. Like a moth ardently attached to an open flame. For just a moment, I cling to him for support. I have nothing else to cling to. Even with Percy, I still feel alone. No Dad, no Thalia, no family, no friends.

We both stare at my dejected body, wondering how long this would go on.

"Hey," Percy mutters to my ear. He's still staring at the coma patient in front of us, not having the will to tear his eyes off her. And I can't, too.

He grips my hands tighter. I think about how warm his hand is and I cannot help feeling disturbed at the fact that he can feel me, too. "Remember what I said to you eight days ago?"

I nod. Yeah. I can still remember that fateful night. When things weren't really set on stone.

"I meant every word I said." Percy embraces me with one arm on my shoulder.

I place my arm around his shoulder, too, smiling sadly. This is morbid, having Percy fall in love with a girl who is way too near her deathbed. This is breaking him, too – I can see it clearly in his eyes whenever he gazes at me and at my lumpy body sprawled across the white mattress.

Seeing him break, it hurts me more than anything. I'm falling apart now. But he tries to hold me, keeping me from falling, just like the hero he's made to be. I am forever grateful for that.

But even Percy can't fix me.

~0~


	12. Unfinished Business

~0~

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 2 – Partly Awake**

**Chapter 12: Unfinished Business**

I try to talk to Dad to no avail. He can't hear me or see me still.

He hangs out at my room daily and it hurts me every time I see his ashen face. His eyes are rimmed with violet-like bruises, like somebody punched him mercilessly. It drives me crazy. And as usual, the universe hates me so much that I can't even do anything about it.

So I stay at the sidelines, watching the monitors for any sign that I might still live. I stay silent because nothing else helps. All I can do is watch the people I love suffer, making my life a living hell. If only I died a few months ago in that airplane, I would have died a painless death. Dad and the others should be back to their normal lives at this time. Leave them with scars that are supposed to be healing by now. But instead, the scars are still deep and fresh as Dad guards me in this suffocating room, hoping for the day that I would finally wake up.

Watching Dad watching me is pure torture.

I get up and dry my tears. For some reason, I can walk through walls and solidify at will – can other ghosts do that? I leave, walking through the door. Really, if this isn't happening to me, I would have laughed. This is beyond crazy bullshit.

I look for Percy, but obviously he isn't here in Clark Kennedy General.

Suddenly, _manically_, I feel some thrill surging through me.

"Oh no." My skin starts turning whiter. My clothes, everything. I am close to being see-through. I'm starting to disappear.

The place starts whirling around my head, making me dizzy. I am floating away.

The next thing I know, I'm not looking around the hospital anymore. Gone were the white walls, the jittery nurses, the flashes of lab coats around me.

I am somewhere else.

_What the hell?_

I bump into a table. I let out a swear as I look around in what seems like a kitchen. There are a messy bunch of plastics lying around the corner. Juice boxes and cans of diet coke. A pig must live here.

Where am I?

I walk through the wall and follow the sound of the television blaring. I walk to the living room. Someone is watching some episode of Leverage. I see a mop of black hair sticking out of the sofa.

"Percy?"

He whirls around, startled at the sound of his name. Percy's green eyes grow wide and he snaps at the remote. Timothy Hutton's clerical voice dies down.

He stands up frantically.

He's in his pajamas already at eight o'clock on a Friday night? Wow. He wasn't kidding when he said he didn't have a social life.

"Holy shit, woman!" he exclaims. "How did you get here?"

"I don't –"

"Did you follow me?"

"No!" I growl at him. "I was looking for you at the hospital. And then, I just – I just popped in here. I can't explain it to you. And would you please put the baseball bat down? Seriously, you can't hit me with it even if you tried."

He scowls, placing his line of defense at the foot of his sofa. He eyes me a little skeptically. I'm betting my bottom dollar that it's his first to have a girl sneak up to his apartment. "Uh, how did you get in here?"

"I told you. I was looking for you and then I just appeared, popped out from nowhere."

"Why didn't you knock?"

"I didn't have to. I just… 'teleported' in your kitchen. And then I heard something from a TV so I went to the living room and found you – "

"Wait. How can you get from the kitchen to the living room? There's a creaky door that connects the two rooms – I should have heard you coming."

"I walked through the wall."

"Wa-wa-wait. You can walk _through_ walls?"

I nod, as if that's the most obvious and plausible thing in the world.

Percy's green eyes turn abnormally wide. "You can make me see you, you can follow me around and you can walk through solid objects. Is there anything else that you can do that you're not telling me?"

"Uh, no. I guess that's about it."

He exhales loudly, his eyes still billowing in astonishment. He scratches the back of his head. "So… why were you looking for me?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Just looking for someone else to talk to, I guess. It's kinda boring being a ghost, you know."

I didn't add the fact that not being around him makes me feel that I don't exist. I do not want him to think I'm some kind of creepy, obsessed stalker. Which admittedly, I am.

"Okay," Percy nods stiffly.

It seems that he just noticed his appearance for he gauzes my expression for a moment before turning red. "I – uh, can I change just a sec?"

Happy for any excuse to be alone with my thoughts, I tell him yes. He scrambles to his room to change into more 'suitable' clothes.

I look at the showcase of books in the living room, chuckling. I have a hunch that Percy wouldn't even dare touch these books – just one of his attempts to appear as a normal, college boy. The walls are coated a light, ochre color. Sally must have picked that one out. He does have an amazing collection of CDs and DVDs. I shuffle the nearest row. His taste in music varies. White Stripes, Green Day, Led Zeppelin, Elton John, The Beatles, The Plain White T's, Coldplay, Muse. Most of them are alt. rock, but there are other genres too, like pop, classical, country, punk, and the least of all, techno. There are CDs of bands and singles I've never even heard of: Metric, Armor For Sleep, Cee Lo Green, Four Year Strong. To some, I am familiar but never really heard their works: Ronnie Day, Neil Young, Augustana and Mayday Parade. I can hear the sound of Flyleaf's songs coming from the stereo in Percy's room and I smile, wondering how his room must look like. Trashed, maybe. But not entirely a disappointment.

I turn to the windows and gasp at the view. Amazing. I got to hand it to him. The apartment may not be that huge, but the nighttime view of New Jersey is breathtaking. I lay my palm at the cold glass of the window. My breath fans and condenses, leaving a huge mark at the glass. Without thinking, I draw a sad face at the window.

"Hey," Percy's voice startles me that I spin around, looking like I've been caught doing something bad.

He chortles down a laugh at my expression. "It's okay. Leave a trademark of your superior artistic skills if you want to."

I roll my eyes.

He cracks a smile. I discreetly look up and down at him. He looks… decent. Yeah. I guess that's the word. Faded black jeans, blue cotton button-down shirt. Barefooted across the icy floor. His hair looks like it just won a fight against its master, making me feel this awkward pleasure that he tried – emphasis on _tried_ – taming it for me.

Not knowing what to say at the moment, I face the windows, watching the lights flicker at the city below. He stands next to me, clearly placid with the fact that he's standing beside a ghost.

"You thinking you're gonna stay here for a while?" Percy breaks the silence.

"Yeah," I answer shortly.

He nods then. "Take my room. I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

I shake my head vigorously. "No. I should be staying at the couch, Percy. Seriously. I'll be okay. It's not like I need sleep or anything." I'm a freaking ghost, for crying out loud.

"Are we going to argue about this too? Come on, Annabeth. Cut me some slack. I'm trying to be a gentleman here."

I sigh. I don't know why I'm backing out in an argument all of a sudden, but I'm deadbeat. I'll let Percy pass and be the gentleman he so wants to be. For now.

I laugh without humor, letting him lead me towards his room. "Chivalry doesn't seem to be like your thing, you know."

"And berating me seems oh-so-natural to you, too," he rolls his eyes. "Anyways, it seems like we're stuck with each other for tonight, so make yourself at home."

~0~

After helping him tidy up his room a bit, we horse around. It feels a little corny that we're playing board games instead of watching flicks on Percy's Bravia, but after a few games, our gung ho characteristics make us play all night. I kicked his skinny ass at Boggle and Chess and Scrabble, much to his dismay and my amusement. After hearing a lot of whining, we decided to play pick-up sticks. I lost my winning streak to Percy after eight rounds. Having a solid body has its obvious perks.

He is smirking that goddamn smirk right now that I have the urge to wipe it off of his face.

The red stick slips off from my fingers that I swear colorfully, putting sailors to shame.

I look up at Percy. He's still smirking.

"Wipe that sleazy grin off your face. You're giving me the shizzles."

He chokes down a laugh and cocks an eyebrow. "Shizzles?"

I growl again. I was about to get the black one but it passes through my smoky fingers, toppling over the stack of yellows and greens, making it Percy's turn to haul everything again.

"I can't believe you're taking this all too calmly," I muse loudly.

Percy sneaks a glance to me before turning again to catch the blue stick. He surreptitiously uses a green one adjacent to it, using it as a lever, and hauls three yellows, the green one and the blue one. "Trust me," he says. "I'm freaking out more than I'm letting it show."

He collects another green. "So what are we going to do?"

I'm glad that he used the plural. I let myself feel relief that we're a team now. "I don't know," I tell him. "Maybe it's only temporary."

"Maybe."

"Ha! I saw that! The green one moved!"

He rolls his eyes at my aggressive play. I slide my hands together greedily, picking which angle I shall try first.

After much finagling, I turn my head up to see that Percy's staring at me. I blush consciously. "What?"

"Nothing." He shrugs casually. "You're very beautiful, that's all."

My eyebrows knit together as I turn red. His aloofness annoys me a little, so I decide to ignore his staring while I try coveting the red stick. I'm not letting him win this one.

"Fuck," I mouth, glaring at the red stick that moved all the others. I can't believe the stick betrayed me.

It's now Percy's turn. "You know, you swear as badly as Rachel."

I squirm slightly at the sound of her name that Percy notices.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You know her?" he asks.

I nod imperceptibly. "I just remembered she used to come to my room when I was still… you know."

"Ahh," he says. "Did she tell you something?"

"A thing or two."

"What did she say?"

"Not much."

Another odd look. He knows that I want to let this go and veers his attention back to the sticks. There's only three left and he hauls everything else with a simple flick of his fingers.

Scoreboard:

Percy – 6

Annabeth – 1

I'm not sure if I'm ready to talk about his best friend and her lingering feelings towards him just yet. It feels as if I'm invading their six years of friendship and privacy. Like some closed club.

And then something hits me.

"What does Rachel look like?"

He puts back the sticks in their case and stands up. "I'll show you."

We go to his room again. I try showing off by walking through his bedroom walls again, which creeps Percy out a little bit. He pulls open a drawer and hands me a 3R picture. It was Christmas then, a bunch of blindingly bright lights and snow banks situated at what seems to be a lawn. A white Christmas. I see Percy, grinning cheekily, a mush ball wounded tightly between his hands. Beside him is a lanky boy with a goatee, his hands on his ski cap. Grover Underwood, Percy tells me. And the red-haired girl with brilliant emerald eyes is Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

I smile, thinking about what Rachel said a few weeks ago. What is she raving about? She's beautiful. Enough to hoard Percy from under my nose. She needs a little confidence boost.

I say this out loud and Percy chuckles good-naturedly. He says he thinks so, too.

"Is she your girlfriend, then?" I ask.

"No," he says. He smiles even wider.

I nod, though l admit I'm not getting it. To me, Rachel is the obvious choice. "You're such a dumbass," I remark conspiratorially. "Why don't you date her? You've known each other for like, I don't know, six years?"

He blinks at me, finding my knowledge about their friendship unusual but doesn't question it.

I have no idea why I asked him that. It felt like I had to say it anyway. To try to, somehow, hook them up or something. She's healthy for him. Perfect. I'm a little too… uptight. Everything a boy shouldn't like. Even though I'm still grounded at the idea of him being with someone else, I don't have a choice. He doesn't have a choice.

I like Percy a lot. Too much. But everything wouldn't work with us anyway.

I'm dying. Is he really this daft not to think this is wrong?

We don't say anything for a while, letting the silence envelope us. Then something catches my eye.

I take the frame between my hands, eyeing the picture. It's a picture of me when I graduated from high school at Santa Barbara. I was happy back then, my diploma scrunched underneath my hands, my hair looked almost gold beneath the intense sunlight. I remember Dad snapping the camera, congratulating me along with Thalia and the rest of my relatives. I was smiling. I was smiling because I thought that I made Mom proud for graduating with honors. That everything would be okay from then on.

"Where did you get this?" I ask him. I don't remember giving this one away. How did Percy get this?

"Yeah. I uh –," he sighs breathlessly. "I took it. I took it from your photo album. The one that your Dad brought in to your room."

I stare at him, urging him to explain.

"I'm sorry. It's just that – I wanted to have a picture of you. I wasn't sure that I was ever going to see you again."

He blushes a deep red color and looks at me, scared that he might have offended me. "I'm sorry," he apologizes again.

I shake my head. "No. It's okay… That's really nice," I manage to say. This small revelation makes my eyes misty. I never thought he would…

"I like that picture," I try not to choke on my own words. "I really like that one."

He agrees. "Yeah. I like that, too."

"I just graduated in Santa Barbara."

"Was your… mom still, you know, with you that day?"

I shake my head again. "No. She died when I was seven."

He sits next to me on his bed. He gives me a small pat on the shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay. I'm sure I made her happy, anyway. My grades were good enough to get me a scholarship to NYU and Columbia."

"She's very proud of you. I'm sure of it."

"Yeah," I stifle another sob. It's really ridiculous for me to start crying. I'm not even crying real tears. Can a ghost really cry?

"You look happy," Percy mutters.

"I was happy," I say numbly. We stare at each other for a minute before sighing, eyeing the picture again.

I bit my lip. "Now look at me. What was I doing all this time? When I think about my life, all I can remember was… Actually, I can't even remember. I barely remember the time when I was happy. Being happy with my mom and dad, going roller-skating with Thalia, hanging out with Luke and my other friends but other than that… I didn't actually do much in my life. I kept on working and working – I was worried about my future. And now, I don't have a future anymore."

"No, no. Don't say that. We're going to get you back to your body and you'll wake up."

He hugs me fiercely, shushing me from saying anything. My whole body is shaking now from trying to suppress a sob. My life is a disappointment, full of regrets and everything. I've always thought everything I've done was enough, that I'm not doing anything wrong with my life, wasting it. I used to scorn people who've always made it a point that they were enjoying themselves, thinking that in the end, they wouldn't accomplish anything. How laughable. It is I who has never accomplished anything. And to think that now, I can't change anything. My body is miles away from me. Simply just a spirit wandering about with no other cause to continue.

I wasted my life. Now I can't get it back.

~0~

**A/N: I hate angst, but for some reason I am much more adept in writing it. Please review!**


	13. Promises

**A/N: I am sincerely sorry for the super late update. I had college application thingies to worry about, and I really hope I'll pass and get to the university I've been hoping to get in. Thanks for reading and please drop a review!**

~0~

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 2 – Partly Awake**

**Chapter 13: Promises**

Three days ago, I spent most of my time moping around like a helpless rag doll, wondering whatever went wrong, wondering why I was so stupid that I never found out what I was supposed to do.

Today, I'll be spending my time trying to figure that out.

I am back at Clark Kennedy again, staring at my body. Percy has long given up convincing Sally and Dad that I'm alive, that I just got detached from my body and maybe a few days later, I'll be good as new.

Now I start pacing, thinking and thinking. Thinking about what is wrong with me. Thinking about how I'm supposed to get back from my body. Thinking about how everything defies the laws of medical science and any other law that's both written and unwritten. How God must have given me some rabid option to straighten out my life. Thinking, stupidly, that in only a few days with Percy, I've already adopted his annoying habit of pacing.

The door opens.

"Oh. Hey, Dad," I say as he takes a seat. "How are you doing?"

I imagine him saying a response, probably a typical "Fine, thank you". As usual, he ignores me and sits near the windows filled with get-well cards and flowers, switching the television on.

The words start tumbling out of my lips. "Can you see me?"

He aims the remote and changes the channel to BBC.

I sigh in defeat. "I guess not."

I turn to the chart nestling at the bottom of a small monitor. My hopes plummet. Of course it is wrong for me to hope. My levels are not stable. They've been treating me with abnormal doses of medicines I couldn't even name properly: one for restarting my heart, another one for helping to slow down the clotting in my lungs, and another for counter-reacting the effects of the second one. I don't need to be a doctor or a nurse or a freaking med student to know that I'm not going to be here that long. The huge dose of drugs they've been giving me that's been keeping me alive is also gradually killing me.

Another set of knocks at the door. The abrupt knocking knocks Dad off his chair and I chuckle softly. He opens the door.

The guy in a white lab gown – I presume he's a doctor – smiles at my father. I don't recognize him. They both shake hands.

"Excuse me, Mr. Chase. I'm Dr. Erik Howard, Head of Oncology. Can I have a word with you?"

"Sure." Dr. Howard and Dad file out of the room, closing the door behind them. I follow them (walking through walls is becoming a real convenience) and eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Sir," Dr. Howards starts. "I just want to say that Annabeth has been one of our top priorities here in Clark Kennedy General. I hope there hasn't been any inconvenience during your stay – "

"No. None at all, no."

Dr. Howard flashes him a tight smile. "Thank you, sir. I want to add that American Airlines has been true to their word. All the expenses has been covered."

_Good to know that they've shown a little leniency, _I think sardonically.

"I'm sorry to say this, sir, but American Airlines have also signed release forms."

_Release forms._ I don't like the sound of this.

Then I see it. Dr. Howard chugs his discomfort down and comes with a cool, collected look. "Since she has been in a persistent coma for too long, I am afraid Clark Kennedy and the company have deemed it fit that – that we pull the plug."

No.

I stare at my father's face, watching the blood drain from it. First, it turns pale, then into a sickly green color, then scarlet.

"We are _not_ going to kill my daughter," Dad responds aggressively.

"Perhaps 'kill' is such a strong word, Mr. Chase," Dr. Howard says. "The hospital has appointed me as a spokesperson for this since Dr. Jackson is still against the matter. Sir, I think it's time."

"Well, I think not," Dad bellows, defiant. "There's still some brain activity. I mean, there are a lot of people who have woken up in this kind of coma."

"There hasn't been any brain activity for the past week. Ever since Ms. Chase had a breathing stoppage, her vital signs haven't been active. It's been nine months, sir. We understand if this is hard for you."

Hard? Don't make me laugh. I want to shriek like a banshee and yell at him for being such a phony. My life is at stake here, not theirs! Screw American Airlines and Clark Kennedy General! If only I could drag their sorry asses to court –

I plead to my Dad. "Come on, Dad. I'm still alive! You've got to feel me! I'm your daughter!"

Dad looks at the doctor, his face devoid of any hope at all.

_No, Dad! No!_

Dr. Howard gives him a look of sympathy. He readjusts his glasses as if Dad's obstinacy disturbed it. "We've seen patients come and go. Annabeth has done a very remarkable thing. She is a hero to us all. But she's been fighting too long, sir. We need to let her rest."

"No!" I scream, wanting them to hear me. I don't want to die yet. I still have something to do, whatever it is. I am _not_ going to die with something unresolved. Please, please, please, don't let me die.

"We have some papers for you to sign if you are willing to remove the life support. These are consent forms," Dr. Howards says, handing him sheets of legal-sized papers. "We understand if you want to prolong your daughter's life. A lot of us feel that way. I'm sorry, Mr. Chase. This is really hard to say on my part. The medications – they have crossed to the extremities, sir. They're already fatal up to this point. We have done everything we can to help her. We still do. But the likelihood of Annabeth waking up in this is very… slim."

_No, please._

"I'll think about it," Dad says in a dead monotone. He closes the door in a snap.

My father takes small and dainty footsteps towards my body, the bitterness on his face flashes ten fold.

"No, Dad. Please don't do this," I cry to him, begging him to let me live. "Give me some time..."

Fat, blubbery tears start to roll down my father's sunken cheeks. He cries with me. I watch him stroke the golden hair of the girl lovingly, his final, futile act to make himself believe that she's still with the living. I cry as hope flies around him in wisps. Hope is unreachable. Untouchable. As I am, floating around my only family.

"I love you, Annabeth," He sobs on her shoulder. I watch as his tears wet the girl's shoulder. Her face, almost covered in a breathing mask machine, doesn't move or flinch. She remains unmoving as her father cries at her impending demise.

I watch this like I've always done when I watched sad movies. Like an outsider.

I can't tell him I love him no matter how much I try. I open my mouth, but my body doesn't respond.

Ironic. Now it seems like a horrendous joke that I am going to get my deepest wish.

I am finally going to die.

~0~

The news that the nineteen-year-old girl who survived a recent plane crash is going to be taken from life support spreads like wildfire.

The whole hospital suddenly knows this. Also my relatives. I've also made it to national media, my face plastered on TV screens and tabloids. A significant amount of people protested against yanking off the life support.

Oops.

I don't need public support, anyway. But it seems that the masses have bought me some time. They've agreed that they will wait for a month. If I won't show any signs of brain activity until that time, Dad will have to sign the papers.

I jump in a jolt when I hear that Luke would be arriving tomorrow to come and see me. He hasn't been notified by anyone else that my plane to New York City crashed until now. At first, I feel relief that in my final days, I will be able to see him. And then, I get angry. How come no one told him about this? Luke is practically family.

I was still fuming about this when Percy arrived.

"Hey."

"Hey."

He stops to think for a moment before continuing, "Mom told me last night. Is it true that – "

"Yeah, it's true," I cut in.

"Is there anything we can do?"

I shake my head sadly, saying no. No, there is absolutely nothing that we can do about it. Right now, I'm just waiting for Luke to arrive and my death to be sentenced. No, there is absolutely nothing that I should look forward to. Nothing.

Percy sits next to me, leaning against the wall to match my position. He puts a protective arm around me and at this simple gesture, I cry.

"I'm scared, Percy," I sob terribly. I lean against him, knowing for a fact that my time with him – with everybody – is horribly limited. That my time has been tragically cut short.

I'm scared.

But this is just the beginning of the next set of tears that would be shed, emotions that would be let out.

I know Percy realizes this, too. He whispers comforting words to me, though this makes me cry more, the hole in my chest becoming sounder than ever.

~0~

It's been a long time since I saw his face.

I've memorized every contour, every line that crinkles up when he smiles. Now it seems that I've been feeding myself with the wrong images.

With black-rimmed glasses that magnifies his beautiful blue eyes, Luke turns into someone I never knew. Someone scholarly. Different. I can't believe I'm staring at the guy whom I've befriended for years.

Well, at least, I'm the one who's staring. Luke is staring at the blonde lying at a hospital bed.

He doesn't rush towards me. I watch him as he glides down towards my limp body, his face scrunched up in a look of distress. He slowly strokes my cold cheek. And then he engulfs me in a hug.

He is careful not to accidentally bump the mask off as he hugs me. This saddens me, watching this. Watching him hug me, and I can't feel it.

"Annabeth," he exhales, gripping my shoulder hard. "Annabeth. Annabeth." He keeps on mumbling my name like some Gregorian chant. "I'm sorry I hadn't come any sooner. I'm sorry, so sorry. Would you please forgive me?"

"Of course I forgive you," I say softly. I don't care if he can't hear me anyway.

It takes him a minute before he finally lets go. His eyes are misty. "I don't want you to leave, Annabeth. No one wants you to leave. Please fight for me. Don't you dare give up. We can still do this.

"Remember that time I almost chickened out at that fencing tournament?" he asks. It takes me a full minute to remember what he was referring to, and then I laugh.

Yes. I remember. Luke used to compete for our school fencing team back in middle school. He got scared witless when he saw his high-statured opponents with freakishly long arms. His face was pale white, blood completely drained from his face when he told me. He considered backing out right there and then.

"I won," he grins. "That was a very remarkable victory because bullies stopped picking on us. We always threatened them that I'd run my saber clean through their filthy guts." I smile. It is one of the most memorable things I have with Luke.

"I didn't win because I overpowered the Clayborne brothers. No. I wasn't even too strong or too good to do that. I won because you were there for me. I remember you kept on shouting like a maniac until your voice turned hoarse, cheering for me when no one else was. You've kept me fighting for a long time, Annabeth. You've kept me alive even when Dad left me alone. When Mom was too sick to take care of me." He grabs my hand. "I'll fight _with_ you. I'll fight _for_ you. Just please, you have to promise me that you'll fight, too. I trust you that you'd still fight with me until the very end.

"I don't know what I'm going to do without you if you leave. You're the only friend I have, Annabeth. You're my friend. You're my sister. You're my family. You're everything to me. Please. Keep fighting."

Luke has never asked this from me. Never. Whenever he needed help, he would never say a word. But I would help anyway.

Because that is what friends do.

And now, now that he's asking me to fight, I've never felt so helpless and scared in my life. Maybe this is what I'm supposed to do. Maybe I'm supposed to fight. "I want to fight, Luke. I want to." I won't give up on him. I never will.

"I'm graduating next fall," he says, still clutching my hand. "I want you to be there when I stand at the podium. I'm the first one to graduate in my family and I'm hoping that you'll be there to come see me."

He kisses my hand. "You are my good luck charm, Annabeth. You promised me that we'd come to each other's graduation. You promised we'd continue on with a life ahead of us. You've never failed at keeping your promises. Please don't start now."

My lips are trembling. "Oh, Luke."

That was what brought me here. Promises. I've promised myself that I would never let anything hurt Thalia. I've promised her mom that I would bring her back safe and sound. And I've fulfilled that promise.

I've never broken any promises. I was sure that I would keep them back then. But now, all I can think is how foolish I am to promise Luke something like that.

Promises. My life revolves around the world of broken promises and unhappy endings. I watch Luke plead with my lifeless body, not knowing that this one promise of mine I would surely have to break.

~0~


	14. The Part Where She Forgets

~0~

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 2 – Partly Awake**

**Chapter 14: The Part Where She Forgets**

"Oh. So that's Nurse Claire," I purse my lips, assessing the long-haired brunette. She's twenty-nine. She has long-lashed eyes and wide hips. Not too bad for a flirt. I snort inwardly. "She has a nice ass."

Percy gives me a reproachful look. "She's pretty nice once you get to know her. She and Mom are great friends."

I snort again. Ha! If only he heard all those things that Claire's been dishing about him…

"So what do you want to do today?" Percy asks me. I am open to recreate double meanings in his statement, and what I hear is, _So what do you want to do today before you die?_

I know Percy did not mean that. Fact is, he's a little worried that we won't be able to get to know each other more until October. So he wants me to hang around with him more before the sand runs out.

We are in the hospital's canteen, a good three floors below from my room. We hit a bargain: he eats, I talk about myself. I ask (I can't eat at all. I'm afraid my current state has deprived me of a stomach), he talks about himself. He finally knows that I like Churchill and Mandela the same, what my favorite ice cream flavor is, my favorite book, my favorite color.

He quizzes me about… everything. Every part that holds me to my existence. I find this whole thing weird, but quite understandable. He asks me things with such urgency that I even entertain the thought that he's the one dying instead of me.

Soon, our month would turn into a few weeks. Then our few weeks would turn into days. Sometimes, I can't bring myself joke around or laugh at his. I'm afraid that one day, none of us would be able to laugh at all.

~0~

I hear the door open. I hold the _Introduction to Organic Chemistry_ book up a little higher, which is hard since I am hardly solid enough to get a grip on the hardbound cover. I start sniffling back the snot that drizzles from my runny nose, hoping that Percy will go away for just a minute.

No such luck. Percy shuts the door of his apartment. "Oh. Hey. You're reading my Chemistry book."

"It's interesting," I whimper, trying my best to sound normal. I curse the remnants of my wet tears that keep on showing.

As always, he senses my poignant outburst. "Put the book down."

I sigh, defeated. My face must have looked horrible for Percy frowns and looks concerned at once.

His lips form a tight line. "Yeah. It's a very sad thing, Organic Chemistry. Makes me cry, too."

I sniff back my snot fiercely. "I'm not crying."

"Okay."

I place the red book at the coffee table, shaking off the derivatives of hydrocarbons and alkynes from my head. He places his brown coat at the hanger and sits beside me, waiting for me to start explaining my breakdown.

"I don't – I'm starting to lose it, Percy."

He purses his lips, urging me to continue.

I turn to him, my eyes rimmed with red. "I can't – I can't remember. I'm starting to lose my memory."

"What?" he readjusts his position, his legs curling up so he can face me. "What do you mean?"

"I can't remember," is all I say, my voice ringing with tremors.

It started this morning.

Luke comes and visits my room from time to time, more frequently than the others, wanting to make up for the lost time we've had. A few hours ago, he was telling me a story about something – a shared memory. He told me about that time when we went fishing, and that I was afraid to touch the live worm baits that squirmed. But as he talked and talked, I found myself wondering what he was talking about.

So I went to Percy's apartment and waited for him to come home after class, thinking that maybe I just had a lapse.

Then suddenly, more memories started slipping away.

After a few seconds, I try to start again. "I don't know who – I can't remember much now. I still remember the crash, the coma, you. But before that, I'm starting to forget. It's starting to get all blurry."

I blink one, twice, thrice. I can't see through my past. It feels like my eyes are being covered with mud. I see snippets of the past: I remember my mother died when I was seven but… I can't remember the cause. Why did she die? Where was I when she died?

I can't remember which school I used to go to.

I remember Dad and Luke and Thalia's faces. Nico. Yeah. I remember him.

But I can't remember past that.

I close my eyes tightly.

I moved to New York City when I turned eighteen. Yes. I remember. I have an apartment at Upper East Side. I go to NYU with a degree in… oh, no.

"No, no, no," I shake my head profusely. What was I in college for? What course did I take?

"Annabeth?" Percy asks, gripping on my shoulders. "What is it that you don't remember?"

I don't –

Annabeth. Yes. My name. My name is Annabeth…

Annabeth…

"What's my last name?" I mutter.

"What?" Percy says.

"What's my last name?" I shout at Percy. "What's my last name?"

The words get lodged at his throat, unable to say anything as he gapes at me in shock at my hysterics.

The voices haunt me, flooding my brain. I can't get them off of my head.

_Annabeth…_

_Annabeth…_

"Tell me! What's my name?" I shriek. I am rocking him back and forth now.

Tell me my goddamn name!

"Chase!" Percy breathes out. His green eyes are swelling in panic. "Annabeth Chase," he repeats. "Your last name is Chase."

I stop rocking him. I just stare at him in alarm, in relief. _Annabeth Chase._ That is my name.

"I… I –," in no time, I start crying again, using the whole dabbing and calming process. When even that doesn't work, Percy tries to hush me, rubbing comforting circles at my back.

I can't believe I almost forgot my name.

Percy takes me to his room so that I can rest for a little bit. Maybe I am just shaken up a little bit that I had… temporary amnesia.

I close my eyes and try my best to sleep.

It starts raining outside, the downpour echoing inside the walls of Percy's room. I make an effort to think through the noise.

Visions start appearing. I can make out some faces though blurred as they are. There is a girl with dark brown hair with a sneer on her face, and I presume this person is someone I probably hated or hate. I can picture out my mom slightly clearly when I close my eyes. I see our likeness: same eyes, same blond hair, almost same face. I imagine her brushing my cheek and comforting me, just like she used to when I was young.

She doesn't come near me, though. In my mind, Mom is always at the edge, on the periphery. Whenever I hold out my hand, she's never within reach.

After a few hours, I slip my feet off of the bed and walk through the door. I didn't get even a single wink of sleep but I am not tired at the slightest. Mostly because I don't even need sleep.

I settle with watching Percy make dinner. He reheats a couple of fish fillets in a pan and starts wrapping potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven with a marinated steak. He hums, turning to the refrigerator and takes out an orange juice carton, pouring it into two glasses.

I resist the urge to point out that I can't drink.

It is a little disturbing to watch all this, since he's not wearing a shirt. But I don't tear my eyes off of him. Somehow, I find this scene fascinating.

"What's for dinner?"

My question makes him jump out of his skin. I smile apologetically when he almost lets the porcelain dishes drop to the floor.

He takes out the pan from the oven, his hands covered in huge mittens. I have to admit, his cooking smells good. He answers my previous question with a grin. "Fillets and sweetened steak with potatoes."

I help him in clearing the dining table. Percy's a good cook, but he's one of the most disorganized persons I've ever met. He's even worse than Dad.

I clear my thoughts, trying not to think about the way Percy's arm muscles flexed nicely. I stare at the ceiling instead. "Smells delicious. Too bad I won't be able to taste it."

I hide a smirk when his face falls. Evidently, he's never thought about that before – he constantly forgets that I don't have a body anymore. He palpably hides the two glasses of juice to hide his embarrassment.

It is hard to think when a guy keeps on waltzing in front of you half-naked. When I can't take it anymore, I say, "Why don't you have a shirt?"

"Does it bother you?"

"Honestly, yes. Yes it does."

"Then I guess I don't own one."

"Just put a goddamn shirt on, Jackson," I seethe. "Or maybe a blanket if you really don't have one." He puts up his hands in mock surrender and retreats to his room, muttering about women and tyrants and dictators. I take a seat at my right and wait for Percy to come back fully dressed. He comes out a few seconds later, wearing a plaid cobalt shirt.

"Oh, hey," I greet, cocking an eyebrow as I pretend to assess him. "I almost didn't recognize you with a shirt on."

He snorts and takes a seat at the table. He starts slicing his steak, chewing as I watch him eat.

I instruct Percy to wipe his chin and the corners of his mouth with a table napkin. After a few moments of silence, he speaks up. "Do you still remember?"

I shake my head sadly.

He drinks up his juice and I watch as his Adam's apple bobs. "How much do you _not_ remember?"

"Too much," I sigh. "I'm starting to feel like – like I don't know myself anymore. Like I left myself behind. Mind giving me a recon?"

"I can't tell you much – I have to admit, I still barely know you. But I'm sure you're a wonderful person."

I faintly smile at his words. "Really? Why?"

"Because you wound up crying over my Chemistry book."

We both laugh.

"So, what you're saying is that you're starting to forget your past." His saying the problem out loud makes my heart sag lower. It's a really huge setback, considering Percy's trying to figure out my past, too. "Is there anything you want to do? You know, to get your memory back?" he inquires.

I nod. I've already thought this one through while I was lying down in his room. "I have an idea."

~0~

With much arguing about my sanity, Percy finally consents and sneaks the address from the hospital's logbook.

We're going to New York.

"I am so gonna be in a world of pain and trouble when I get back," Percy groans as he takes a turn eastbound. He puts his foot on the gas pedal and starts going over fifty when we arrive at the Lincoln Tunnel.

It's been a long ride and I stretch my legs at my seat. He races across the freeways like a sadist. I keep on directing Percy to each intersection as stated on a sheet of paper we managed to get from the Clark Kennedy's patient directory. Percy couldn't ask my father head-on about where I live. And silly me, I forgot where I live.

"Take a turn to Sloan-Kattering. Yeah. That's it. Straight to East 79th and make a right turn."

I hear the soft purr of the Prius, along with the vehement screeching of the tires. I point to a bricked-building with a _Join Macy's!_ sign. "Make a left, Percy."

I tell him to stop at a green, eight-story building with low stone walls. I close my eyes and open them again. "This is it. This is where I live." I walk through the car doors and latch myself on the crevices of the pavement. The nose-clinging aroma of the peonies hit me with the whirling wind. This is my home. I hurriedly climb the front door steps and come inside, forgetting for a moment that my companion doesn't have the innate ability to molecularly secede himself.

We climb up the stairwell. I remember that my apartment is way up, having direct access to the roof. It was a good decision to come back here. Memories start to return to me again.

"This way," I say, leading him to the western wall. I remember my door has a stamped number nine on the front.

7…

8…

9.

Percy struggles with the door and grits his teeth. The doors are locked. "You go ahead, Annabeth," he says.

I shake my head. "No. We're going in together. There's got to be a spare key in here somewhere. I know I have a spare key…"

Spare key. Spare key. Spare key.

Oh.

I sift through the potted fortune plant at the eave, revealing a silver key. I grin merrily at him. "Told you."

He turns the key clockwise and snivel the knob. The door opens with a loud creaking sound. My light heart does a heavy ga-glub on my chest, and my hands fly towards it at the sudden constriction. I go inside the apartment – my apartment. Percy lets out a low whistle and steps inside after me.

The cozy pastel colors of the walls are still there. The high-beamed ceilings parallel across the carpeted wooden floor. The walls are adorned with dark shades of curtains and heavy fabric. Wire baskets parole everywhere. I can still see those discarded flyers I got from entrepreneurs down the street the day before I went to Detroit.

It is just like as I left it.

My fingers graze the coffee table with my favorite lilac at the centerpiece.

I hear Percy clear his throat before asking, "So. Are you starting to remember anything?"

I nod slightly, touching lightly the TV remote sitting innocently on the table. "I used to order Chinese and Japanese delicacies for dinner. I used to sit here on the couch during Saturday nights, watch Matt Damon movies and eat Ramen and Peking duck, sipping chocolate slurpees."

"That's nice."

I glance at the far right side of the apartment. We halt at the last mahogany door down the hall.

This is my room.

I walk through the door just as Percy veers to open it for me. "This is my room," I inform him. There's the huge glass window I like staring at during rainy days. The view is majestic, except when you look down where the busy streets are curling with garbage bags heaved at the alleys. I remember flopping into bed every night, taking out a novel after a lot of stresses and cram my due lit papers – that's it!

"I study literature," I mumble to myself. I then catch Percy's attention to tell my epiphany. "I study literature. I also took a creative writing course at NYU."

His eyebrows furrow at my revelation. "You're a writer?"

"That's what I remember," I reply, thinking about it again. "But I do remember wanting to be an architect. I like writing, but I want to be an architect." What was I in college for, then? Was I going to be an architect or a writer? Or was I originally in a writing course but decided to switch to architecture? Or was it the other way around? Was it neither?

I start rummaging at my nightstand, looking for clues.

"Do you keep a diary? Or a journal?" Percy supplies helpfully and I stop short. I like writing, yes, but I know I never wrote in a diary before. Now I wish I had. It would have made searching for my life ten times easier.

I turn back to rummaging my drawers again. "No. I don't think I have a diary."

I see used checks and paperwork and birthday invitations. Tens and thousands of birthday invitations. I don't remember going to one of these parties. Clearly, I wasn't much of a party-goer.

"I'll be back in a sec," Percy says, darting towards the door.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"I'm going to ask around."

"What?"

"I'm going to ask your neighbors about you."

"What? Why?"

Percy tilts his head towards me, the intensity of his green eyes surprises me, making me stop short. "From the looks of it, snooping around your apartment isn't enough. I need to ask some people who knew you so that we can get some of your memory back."

~0~

"I dunno, man. She's pretty much of a loner, spending most of her time upstairs. I hardly see her with anyone, though." A spike-haired boy named Michael, who lives two floors down from my room, chirps, leaning with a casual stance on his door post. His depthless brown eyes stare at Percy with amusement.

Percy arcs an eyebrow. "And do you remember anything about the girl? It's important."

"Hmm," Michael purses his lips, pretending to think about it. "I do remember her being pretty tough. She turned down my offer when I asked her to come to a party last year. Yeah," he chuckles. "She's hot, dude. _Very_ hot."

"What a blockhead," I sniff airily at this vulgar man. Good thing I wasn't el desperado back then. I wouldn't date this man even if it heightens my chances of waking up.

Percy isn't all too happy with his response either. "Thank you for your time," he shakes hands with Michael, smooth and polite, but I can sense the underlying snarky side Percy's trying to hold back.

What a disappointment.

We've been at it for only thirty minutes and asked six of the residents, and I already feel like giving up. Apparently, I was one of those pariahs – constantly condemning myself to social suicide. The balding man who's in apartment number one doesn't even know me. The one in number three thinks I am a widower. Or some retired Harvard professor (Do I look _that_ old?). The girl with the unnatural red hair in number four told Percy that she knew me, but kept our acquaintanceship to a minimum level because I didn't like associating myself much. The sixth one has always thought that the apartment nine upstairs has always been vacant.

If I have doubted my life before, now I hate it.

"Great," I huff in a non-commentary tone. "It's like I was a ghost even before this."

But Percy still persists, wanting to hear more about me from other people. With the exception of Michael and his perturbing comment about my physical aspects, Percy's enjoying himself more than he allows me to see.

Jerk.

He knocks on another door. The apartment owner of number seven opens it quickly.

"Yes?" a familiar-looking man questions. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, hello, sir. May I ask you something?"

"Okay. Sure."

"I know this guy," I mutter. "Percy, I know this guy."

"What?" Percy whispers.

The man's eyebrows furrow, thinking it was him Percy just talked to. "I just said sure, you can ask me."

"Oh. Oh yeah," Percy says, turning his attention to him. "Um, sir, do you know a lady living upstairs, room nine? Blond hair, gray eyes, uh– "

"Five-nine," I quip.

" – about five foot nine inches tall? Her name's Annabeth."

My name the man recognizes. He adjusts his glasses and studies Percy more closely. "Oh, yes. I do remember Ms. Annabeth Chase. I used to supplement her with my French lessons."

"Oh yeah!" That's why this man looks familiar. "He's Albert Kendrick. He used to teach me French for my term paper."

"Are you Mr. Kendrick?" Percy asks.

He nods. "Yes, I am. How did you know my name?"

"Oh, I just moved here. Just… getting used to the neighborhood, you know?"

"In which room did you move?"

"Apartment nine. Ms. Chase's apartment," is Percy's standard answer.

"Ah, yes," Mr. Kendrick nods slowly. "I do remember, Ms. Chase. Such a pleasant lady –"

"I like this guy," I say to Percy.

" – very astute. One of my best students –"

Maybe I wasn't too bad after all. Maybe I was friends with this guy.

" – but she did quite strike me as dull."

"Dull?" Percy and I speak in unison.

Mr. Kendrick frowns, trying to remember some long, distant memory of me. "When I look at her, I see sadness. Loneliness."

Okay. Maybe we aren't that _close_. "I don't need some psychological profile from a teacher. Can we just get out of here?" I say.

Percy is trying his best not to laugh. "Okay. Thank you, sir." They shake hands after Mr. Kendrick wishes Percy good luck.

As if I'm harboring some monster in my apartment that will eat him up.

Both of us slowly retract back to my bedroom.

"Okay," Percy exclaims after some motivated silence. "We've been through seven units in this building and some of them don't even know you exist. You must be some international spy or something for keeping such a low profile."

"I don't get it," I slump hard on my pillow. "I didn't know I was _this_ bad at connecting with people."

"You're not bad at connecting with people," Percy assures me. "You just… don't like to talk about yourself. Maybe that's why people think you're a mystery," he flops on the bed, craning his neck so he would be facing me.

"We should get back to Clark Kennedy," I tell him. "Your mom's going to be worried about you."

Percy looks at me queerly. "Don't you want to jog your memories back?"

"I don't think my life is worth remembering at all," I answer tiredly. In retrospect, I wouldn't be getting much at all, let alone jog my full memories by the end of the month. A lost cause. Better strap myself to a good, ol' journey to the underworld.

"No, Annabeth," he argues. "We're going to get your memories back –"

"It's nothing, Percy."

"Nothing? You're calling your whole life _nothing_?"

My jaw flexes. "I am not dragging you into a false mission. I don't want this anymore."

Seriously, why can't he see that? Why does he cling onto memories that aren't even his own? I've already lost the stipulation to live. And here he is, debating about continuing to jog me back to Memory Land. Do past lives really matter that much?

"This isn't just about you," he says softly. He seems to have trailed off to what he was supposed to say, and he sighs.

"This is probably selfish of me. I know you don't like people knowing about you and I'm sorry for asking so many questions," he apologizes. "It's just that… I want to know more about you, Annabeth. It's like, I dunno, I feel like something's missing. Like I've been missing something – something good in my life." Percy looks earnestly at my tender expression.

Finding something in my expression, he continues. "Ever since I saw you back at the hospital, I knew you would always be out of reach. But now that I'm so close to really knowing who you are, I don't want to pass up the chance. I don't want myself to regret that I never got to know you when you leave me. Just this once, I want to be selfish enough to ask you – "

I put my hand to his mouth to stop him. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear those words coming from his mouth – from Percy's mouth. It's unbearable to think that he's followed me around everywhere, responding to my every whim. And I am vain and selfish enough not to notice that this hurts him, too. It's hard enough that people think he's crazy.

Vain. Selfish. These two traits are my greatest identifiers. Probably the reason why no one in this apartment building even bothered to know my name. Such a waste I was. Such a waste I am.

Percy has every right to be selfish.

"Brace yourself, then," I tell him, still not removing my hand from his lips. "My life might not have always been bright and dandy."

He nods, determined. I sigh and slip away my hands, slowly tracing his lips at the process. Pain stings me, and I'm beginning to wonder why on such a short notice, I've already fallen in love.

Percy gives me a one-armed hug again. My sudden familiarity to this simple gesture makes my chest heave. My heart flutters, and I'm sure if I'm still strapped to my heart monitor, it would have gone berserk.

I put my head onto his chest.

He chuckles. "You know, you're pretty warm for a ghost."

"I can be a succubus if you're disappointed with the warmth, then." I smile, laughing at the prospect of me being Percy's divine seducer.

"No, no. I like warm," he presses his lips ever so cautiously on my hair. "And I'm not disappointed either."

I have to admit, Percy and I are still awkward about this whole… thing we have with each other. We aren't exactly the most normal people in the world and surely, we don't have the most normal boy-girl relationship in the entire universe, even with the romance aside, but right now, I push that thought to the back of my mind. This is too nice to be ruined by some idiotic law of nature.

And I'm sure that this little moment of peace is one memory I would never forget.

~0~


	15. Business Finished

~0~

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 2 – Partly Awake**

**Chapter 15: Business Finished**

Another thing you should know about Percy: he's a good forger. A good forger of signatures, I mean.

Yes, his handwriting is quite awful – just random collections of scribbles that a chicken may have made, but he's talented in copying signatures.

And I'm glad he can copy my signature just fine.

"Mr. – er, um – Mr. Jackson, would you please tell us how you are related to Ms. Chase?" a lady in a smart suit asks Percy offhandedly.

"I'm her cousin," Percy replies, flushing a little. "She says she doesn't want the job after all."

The clerk – her name's Anna, I remember – pursed her lips. "Well, she was enthusiastic when we told her she got the job. Overwhelmed. She outshone all of the applicants, even though she's nineteen and she just wrote a small report – "

"She's in no condition to work for this firm, if you've been watching the late night news yourself," Percy replies agitatedly.

Anna narrows her beady eyes a little. "It's late."

He unsuccessfully hides a snort.

"Ms. Chase's signature is here," Anna says, still unnerved. "Are you sure this letter is from her? How can we know someone didn't just make this up?"

"Her signature's there. Check the date. She wrote that even before she got in a coma."

"I'm sorry for irking you, Mr. Jackson," Anna manages a small smile. "We just want to be thorough with this; we only want to hire the best there is. But since Annabeth Chase has something to say," she adds hastily at the look Percy gave her.

"'I would like to request a recommendation for…" she adjusts her glasses. "'Ms. Leila Tadeny'."

I wince at the sound of her name. I don't know why I'm doing this. I must have been high or been hit by an oar on the head when I asked Percy to make a letter recommending my noble rival for the editor's job we both fought to apply for. However, Leila did come a close second to me when we both applied. In the interviews, in the pre-lem tests, she beats me in everything. Almost. I got the job in the end.

_She doesn't deserve it,_ a voice inside my head counters. _She's vile._

_Only to you_, I growl at myself. From what I've heard countless of times, she's very nice. Maybe I hate her because she was my competition in everything, even back at high school. Maybe that's why I have this urge to start hating Rachel Dare again.

I sigh. I might be loony, but this is the right thing to do. Leila was devastated when I got her dream job.

"Anonymously, eh?" Anna asks.

Percy nods.

"Well, I guess we can work on that. I sure hope Ms. Tadeny is up for the expectations we've set up, Ms. Chase's recommendation being our baseline."

_She'll be brilliant_, I think ruefully. Leila will do better than me, I'm sure.

Percy and I set off for his car again. He buckles his seatbelt.

"You all right?" he questions.

"I'm fine."

"You really hate that Tadeny girl?"

"Not much."

Percy smirks. "You do. Not up for a bit of completion now, are we?"

I scowl at him.

"Well, you did a remarkable thing, suggesting Leila for the job, and ladida, _anonymously_," he says, looking at the rearview mirror as he backed up the car. There is a little awe in his voice.

"It's not like I'll be all in twos and get to work after I graduate soon," I respond. "Besides, I'm sure she'll do the same thing."

"What? Ride a plane that'll go crashing down, get stuck in a coma, be a ghost and recommend your almost-job to your number one rival?. Doesn't seem likely."

"Shut up and keep your eye on the road."

Percy chuckles. We turn to an intersection and drive westbound.

"You've half-emptied the fortune your mom gave you to donate to that cancer kid you told me you once met – only once – in a joke shop and now you've given away the editor's job to someone you've hated for a long time," he enumerates with a laugh in his voice. "Where's the next stop."

Unperturbed by his well-disguised taunt, I open a dusty planner. "Drop us off at Fifth Avenue."

~0~

_Ding dong!_

I wait anxiously near Percy's side, waiting for the door to open.

"Coming!" someone from the inside calls. I hear the girl – I can tell she's a girl by her high-pitched voice – bolt towards the door. A brown-eyed girl with silky black hair smiles at Percy. "Hi, there!" she greets in a friendly tone.

"Uh, hi," Percy flashes her one of his crooked smiles. "Are you Silena Beauregard?"

"That's me!" she chirps and I wonder why this superbly cheerful person gets to be my very best friend. According to my yearbook, which Percy and I found buried beneath the brandished closet, she is.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Silena says. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Well, I – uh, this might seem odd but, I know your friend. Annabeth Chase."

Her brown eyes seem to light gleefully at the sound of my name. "You know Annabeth? How is she? She's been gone for months –"

"You've got to be kidding me," I say in disbelief. My best friend doesn't even know I'm half-dead? First Luke, and now Silena? I'm suing the Department of Telecommunications whenever I'll get a chance.

"Oh, wait. How did you guys meet? I mean, what is she to you?"

"Tell her you're my boyfriend," I instruct him.

At that, Percy looks at me with his mouth half-open, surprised.

I give his arm a light squeeze. "Silena's not going to talk to you if you can't prove that we are intimately connected."

"Uh," Percy stammers. "We were… romantic… with each other."

Silena smirks, half in amusement, half in disbelief. "Romantic?"

Percy nods faintly. "You know. Boyfriend… Girlfriend –"

"Oh," Silena nods, too. From the looks on her face, I'm starting to fear she wouldn't take the bait. "I'm sorry – "

"Percy," he supplies.

"I'm sorry, Percy," Silena says. "But I find that a little hard to believe."

"What?" I ask.

"What?" Percy repeats.

Silena smiles again. "As far as I know, Annabeth never dated anyone. Wasn't much of a romantic, that girl was. We used to get into fights whenever I tried hooking her up with guys – "

Wow. Apparently, I must have been pretty messed up. "Make something up," I hiss to Percy's ear.

"Oh, we are just recent," Percy improvises. His green eyes are darting back and forth: the picture of unease. I sigh. I am a much better liar than he is.

"Really?" she asks.

"Yeah," he squeaks. "We – we met in New Jersey. She's still there."

"How is she, then?" Silena inquires, and my knees almost buckle in relief. Well, that was easy.

"Well, she's – "

"Oh, how rude of me," Silena interrupts, muttering to herself. She opens the door wide for Percy, telling him to come in. Silena amiably leads Percy to the living room. She tells him to take a seat on the couch while she goes to the kitchen to make a few glasses of lemonade.

"Who was at the door, love?" someone – a guy – calls from the upstairs room. I hear his huge, loud footsteps resonating from the staircase.

"It's Annabeth's boyfriend!" Silena responds, shouting from across the kitchen.

Then, I finally see the man. He is tall and burly, like a weight-lifter with a permanent scowl on his face. Tan and brawny. Recognition crosses my mind. This is Charles Beckendorf, Silena's boyfriend and live-in partner. I remember that they were engaged a few months before my accident.

Beckendorf eyes Percy curiously. "Annabeth has a boyfriend?"

"I know," Silena walks in with a quick, graceful trance in the living room. She offers her fiancée and my 'boyfriend' lemonade. She puts down the silver tray on the coaster of a round, wooden table. "Crazy, right?"

Beckendorf chuckles with her. Seriously. Was I really much of a man-hater back then that even the idea of me dating someone is by far ludicrous?

"Good thing to know that Annabeth's moving up," Beckendorf smiles warmly at Percy, though the smile is marred by the down sets of his cheekbones. "I'm Charles Beckendorf. A friend of Annabeth's. Call me Beckendorf."

Percy takes his severely callous hand. "Percy Jackson. Nice to meet you."

Beckendorf and Silena take the loveseat whereas Percy sandwiches himself between me and a lamp. "So, Percy. How was your… romantic rendezvous with Annabeth, eh?"

"Oh, she's my mom's patient in New Jersey," Percy says truthfully.

Silena asks, suddenly worried. "Why? Is she sick?" The concern in her voice is heartwarming, and it kinda makes me feel good that I have a friend like her and Beckendorf.

Percy sighs and sends them a wary glance. Alright, Percy. Time for you to break the ice.

"I'm sorry. I lied. I'm not Annabeth's boyfriend. I wasn't sure that you would believe me if I told you I was just her… her doctor's son – "

"Hell yes," Beckendorf laughs and agrees, not even slightly angry at the fact that Percy lied to them. "Even I can't believe that you're her boyfriend."

Wow. Everyone just likes to bring that up.

"Anyways, I wasn't lying about her being sick, though." Percy flashes me a glance. "She – she's in a coma."

I figure Silena and Beckendorf's hearts aren't the only ones that stop. I can't believe Percy blurted out the whole truth to them. My condition would worry them too much. I don't want them to worry. They'll end up like Dad.

I send Percy a fleeting look, silently telling him "_what have you done?_". He just gives me a reassuring look, wanting me to trust him.

Silena stutters. "C-coma?" Her face suddenly turns pale, her brown eyes widening.

"Wait. You did say she's in a coma," Beckendorf says, barely hiding the surprise and anxiety quivering in his tone. "But she's all right, isn't she? What happened?"

"Her flight to New York crashed in Pennsylvania. She's in a coma. My mom is her doctor and Annabeth's been staying in Clark Kennedy General for nine months now."

Silena whimpers and buries her head in her hands. Beckendorf weaves his toned arms around her protectively.

"She's still alive, isn't she?" Beckendorf says in a small but clear voice. "I mean, they haven't taken the life support, right?"

Percy's face grows dim. It didn't take someone with a gift of prognostication or anything to figure out what he is going to say next.

When Percy says the final words, Silena's and Beckendorf's faces crash. I watch as Silena breaks down into a heartbreaking sob, as Beckendorf hovers around her and whispers comforting words to her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

I watch in silence as these two, my very best friends, hurdle at each other, mourning over the deliberation of my death. It is hard for me to watch, to not say anything, to be able to be this close to them but not possessing the power to console them at the least.

At the corner of my eye, I see Percy's hands are shaking again. Maybe out of fear, or sadness. Terror. Sympathy. At the sight of this and his miserable expression, I take his hand.


	16. 16-1: The Happily Never After

**A/N: I'm sorry for the long wait. It took quite some time before I got myself back on track. And great news: this story has been nominated for a Phoenix Award for _Best AU!_ Thank you very much for all the support! I never would have gotten this far without you guys. To those who would like for my story to win, please check out the new and improved Phoenix Awards (used to be Veritas) at .com. Thank you!**

**Another thing. Since my extremely awesome super best friend here in fanfiction - storyteller1425 - told me that this ending for the story was quite too dreary, I decided to make two alternate endings. The other one would be posted shortly, so just hang if you're willin' for some shakin'.**

~0~

**Stuck In Between**

**Part 2 – Partly Awake**

**Chapter 16-1: The Happily Never After**

Thirty days has already passed.

I'm leaving this world without regrets, without leaving any loose threads. I watch as the whole hospital moves around me, completely unaware of my presence. The doctors hurry down at the ER, trying to save the lives that are salvageable, the nurses in tow, carrying equipments and tools and pointy needles with them. Today, Clark Kennedy General seems timeless.

I glance at the clock above me.

11:48.

I have only twelve minutes left in this world. I don't know what I should do in the last minutes of my life. The days have flown by like a fluttering hummingbird's wings – too fast for me to keep track. I am wholly aware of the shortness of time, though. I savor it, not wanting to be someone who didn't live with dignity.

I leave Dad's side and rejoin Percy at the waiting room. I find it amusing, really – my folks, my loved ones, waiting in the waiting room for my death to be delivered. Aptly named, I tell myself.

With many protests, I made Percy avoid spending a night at a bar, drinking his liver to hell. He was glib, ardent, to be miserable a night before my life support would be taken away. And I'm happy that he didn't drink last night. His face is so gaunt and pale that I couldn't even imagine what his face would be if he's still in a hangover.

I hope he'll fulfill my wish that he will stop from drinking again.

We stand up and take a cup of coffee near a vending machine a couple of steps away. Percy and I do not talk, too absorbed in our own thoughts.

I am really going to miss him.

I see Rachel, sipping her cup of dark coffee. She takes a step aside so Percy can get his own drink.

"I'm sorry, Percy," Rachel says solemnly.

Now I wish she hadn't said anything.

Percy turns to her, and I can see his whole face crumble. Like someone boiled him in acid, punched him in the gut multiple times. I almost cry at the sight of his face. Where is the face of the funny, flighty, sweet and sincere guy I love in this person? I don't see that side of him at all. Right now, all I can see is that look again. The look of death.

"I know she means a lot to you," Rachel continues when Percy doesn't respond. Her red hair seems to turn into a fiery red-orange fire as she speaks. "You love her."

Percy nods, a ghost of a smile dangling on his lips. My eyes start to produce tears again, my heart swelling at his answer. "I love her more than she'll ever know."

Rachel dabs her eyes with her scarf. There are no traces of jealously or hate on her face. Just pure sadness. Like she is mourning over me, too. "It's a funny thing, though, that I consider her as my friend even if I didn't know her. Strange that I owe a lot to someone I never even knew."

I nod. I feel the exact same way about her. At first, my emotions were a misnomer. I thought I was just frightfully envious, worried about Percy. Now, I know it's a stupid emotion to consider, to affiliate with Rachel. I now realize that from the very start, from the time when she confessed her unconventional love to Percy, I knew she was right for him. I've already imagined them together from the very beginning, and now, my visions are not far from possible.

Rachel will always be there for Percy when I'm gone.

I smile at that, no matter how painful the thought is to me. She would always be there when I couldn't, and I am relieved that I wouldn't be leaving him alone.

The next words that fly from her mouth stun me. "She's right here, isn't she?"

Both Percy and I stop short at this. Can she see me, too? Can she see Annabeth's spirit?

Rachel smiles weakly. "You're not that hard to figure out, Percy. Oh, I can't see her, but I know she's always been there. And I can feel her." What astonishes me the most is that she stares right at me, to where I am standing. Percy almost spills his coffee in surprise, incredulous.

"So you don't think I'm crazy, talking to invisible spirits and all?" Percy asks, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Rachel grins. "You've done worse."

They turn to each other and embrace heartily. And I smile at the scene before me.

"She's going to be a lovely angel," Percy mutters.

Rachel nods again with tears spilling in her eyes. "Yeah. She always has been."

Percy then discards his empty Styrofoam coffee cup at a wastebasket and leaves, his eyes hung low again. Rachel and I stare after him. The guy whom we both love dearly.

"Thank you," Rachel whispers, and I know it is directed to me. She wants to thank me for bringing Percy and her closer.

"Thank you," I answer back. And I want to thank her for just being her. For being the Rachel Percy deserves. At the sad, dreary but content smile that spread across her lips, I know she heard me.

Everyone I knew and loved shuffle inside the room. Dad, Sally, Silena, Beckendorf, Grover, Juniper, Percy, Rachel, Paul, Thalia, Uncle Jerry, Uncle Thomas, Aunt Beatrice, Aunt Janine, Aunt Lucinda, the di Angelos… they are all here to say goodbye…

To see me take my last breath…

Poorly suppressed tears drench the air. I look at Thalia, thanking God that He allowed me to save her. She has a second chance, and I pray that she'll make her life into something worth living for.

I stare at my family's faces.

They've been there for me.

Sacrificed so much…

I think about the idea of leaving them for good – it sends me a burning gash in my chest that I almost bellow in pain.

Luke, Percy, Rachel, Grover and Juniper. Sally, Paul and the di Angelos anew.

I will miss them all so much.

More sorrowful cries erupt, but I don't cry with them. I am not afraid anymore. I can't bring myself to be afraid. Death seems inevitable now. I knew it as soon as I heard the metal screeching of the plane last December.

This is it.

Dad and Percy stand together. Companionship. I am glad that, now that I'll be gone, there wouldn't be any long-standing, hidden animosity between the two most important men in my world. Dad gives him a long lingering look before saying, "Thank you very much, son". Percy responds with the smallest of smiles.

Goodbyes.

They all say goodbye to me, one by one. I am touched to the very core, how they have valued me so much. It is the saddest of all, that I couldn't convey any of my gratitude to them. And they deserve to know. One day, they will.

I think about Mom and Bianca di Angelo. I can't believe I am finally going to meet them again. And be with them. Forever.

A doctor slowly reaches for my breathing tube.

I take a deep breath.

This is it.

I memorize each face in this room. Who all stood by me for better and for worst.

No regrets. I am leaving with no regrets.

Everyone says that your life flashes in your eyes when the end has come. To my surprise, it does.

I love watching the stars. I love architecture. I love creating my own stories. I love slurping smoothies and drinking coffee during weekdays. I love Faulkner and Salinger, Brontё and Gaiman. I love Plato, Galen, Socrates and Hippocrates. I love Venturi and Gropius and Romano and Daedalus. I love the feel of fresh paper on my skin, the high winds caressing my hair.

And I love the life I lived.

Thanks to Percy, Luke, Silena and Beckendorf, I finally remember everything. Everything that gives my life meaning. Everything I want to remember and bring with me as I die.

This is it, then.

This is my end.

My final stop.

I look at Percy. Percy looks at me. I suddenly wish for the world to stop, for this to be my eternity, to be able to see his sea green eyes –

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

My breathing tube is now detached.

I still stare at Percy as I fade away. I tell him the words that I've been trying to tell him for a long time. Words that I've been saving till this final moment.

"I love you, Percy."

I am leaving this world with no regrets.

No regrets…

I imagine myself being in his arms again as the skies lift me, cradling me against the wind. I close my eyes and dream of nothing but his beautiful green eyes.

"I love you, Annabeth," are the last words I hear.

_**~Fin~**_


	17. The Other and Slightly Better Version

**A/N: I'm sixteen, I'm off for college, and I think this is the perfect time to let this thing go and float on its own. **

**I've reread all my stories. I have no words except to say that, besides the sucky writing style I used to have, there are plot holes so big I can place China inside of it along with the 1.3 billion people, and it would still have some space for the islands of Oceania and Maldives. But I can say I have grown, and I quote "some self-esteem, you fucking pussy". Made this for only a day. Thank you for all the support and I sincerely hope you will like this dark yet more optimistic chapter. I apologize in advance for the obscene amount of swearing.**

**Dedicated to: storyteller1425 – the gal's amazing, and I did not send this part of the manuscript to her because I wanted it to be a surprise. She **_**did**_** persuade me to make an alternative. So here it is, my lady friend. And no, the mistakes in this chapter are mine, all mine. No, you can't have a slice.**

* * *

><p><strong>Stuck in Between<strong>

**Chapter 16 – 2: **The Other and Slightly Better Version of The Happily Never After (Alternate Ending)

* * *

><p>~0~<p>

Nothing much happened. Just a couple of things that the majority of people in America took as a minor occurrence; sleet covered most of the roads west of New Jersey, two burglaries amidst the Christmas Eve shopping rush, and a survivor from the Flight JZ101 crash finally woke up from her long (fifteen months to be exact), deep slumber, which caused quite a stir in the local news in few chosen channels.

Percy Jackson chugs down a few cheap beers, his Adam's apple bobbing; he begs to differ.

"You. Come. Home. Now."

He ignores the static buzzing on his phone and wipes his mouth. "I can't decide what's more annoying: you calling non-stop for the last twenty minutes or the fact that you're just standing ten feet away from me wearing a hideous disguise, which by the way does _not_ qualify as a disguise since you stand out more than a wrestler inside a toy shop buying Robocop action figures."

He can see Rachel blanch. "You are sickening."

"It _is_ Christmas, Dare. Would it kill you to loosen the knot and join me?"

"I don't think drinking your liver to death falls under the 'loosen the knot' category."

Percy snorts. He hangs up and slides the peanut bowl closer to him, taking a handful of nuts and crushing it into his mouth. He knows exactly why Rachel's been hovering around him for the past couple of months; his mom isn't entirely known in the east coast for being the discreet type. In another parallel world, Percy might have been touched. But the way she bosses him around is annoying, not to mention disconcerting.

Sighing, Rachel takes the stool next to him quite gracefully. "You know, your mother's going to kill me if you crash again." She fiddles with the peanut bowl. "This is not what she pictured when I assured her that I would take you home to dinner with us."

"And have me and your father in the same room?" Percy shoots back. "I thought you're done with this whole 'flirt with disaster' phase you had going on."

"Puh-lease. At least I've grown a brain and taught myself how to put up with you and Grover. Look at you!" She waves her hand up and down at him to prove her point. "Haven't you been listening to me?"

Percy takes another swig. "You, milady, are being a little dramatic."

He realizes a fraction of a second too late that it was the wrong thing to say. Rachel's nostrils flare, her cheeks coloring in almost the exact shade of her copper hair. She pounds her right fist on the platform, making an audible noise and a few people turn their heads in conspiracy. "You have been moping – and I mean _moping_ – for nine weeks that it made manic-depressives go camping in the sewers with their tails in between their legs and no. No, no, no. _You_ had to start blowing things out of proportion! You had to go out of town for three whole days and totally _ignore_ our calls like we're not going insane wondering where in hell you are and what in hell you've screwed up, and you go around like some freakin' egghead in an 80's movie, and _fuck_, don't get me started on the whole 'I'm not going to class just because I don't feel like it' crap. I mean, _shit_! Do you know how Doc J has been doing? Do you?" She gives him a full-on glare, takes in another breath and fires. "Your mom has been cleaning your ass since your father left you both, and this is how you thank her?"

"Rachel, stop – "

"Oh no. Don't you 'Rachel' me, you SOB. You are _so_ full of bullshit, you know that? The girl was in a freaking _coma,_ forchristsake. C-O-M-A. She doesn't remember you! She doesn't remember _us_! I know you have this tendency to fall in love with things that don't make any sense, but please, Perseus Jackson. You have crossed a lot of motherfucking lines that do not need crossing. Sorry to break it to you – oh, wait. I'm not sorry at all – but this is ridiculous! I never signed up to be your bodyguard, no way in hell. But I owe your mom. Annabeth Chase _does_ not and _will_ not remember any of the goddamned things you've talked about or the stupid moments you've shared BECAUSE she was a _vegetable_ at that time! She wakes up and she moves on. That's life, Jackson. We've all fucking experienced it. Now stop overreacting and get your dick straight."

Rachel hears a sharp intake of breath and is astonished to see Percy's eyes tender. He swallows painfully and mutters "You're a bitch" before taking his coat, heading towards the door.

She sighs, making a mental note to stop by his apartment tomorrow morning, and calls the bartender (who has been getting closer inch by inch since the tirade started). "Put the asshole's bill on my tab." She sighs again.

The bartender nods and turns to the auburn-haired girl whose bra-less chest is protruding.

Rachel takes out her phone and winces at the sight of calls she missed. She swears. All of them were from Sally Jackson-Blofis. She redials. "Um, Doc? Yeah, I think I went a little too far."

~0~

Another wrench from his gut. A sloppy goo with pale brown hue explodes from Percy's mouth as he holds on a lamppost three kilometers away from Drei's beer house. A swirl of nausea attacks his brain and before he can steady himself, he pukes again, the sludge mixing with snow coating the pavement. He smells at least a dozen of dead rats oozing out from his mouth and a hint of cooked turkey from the house across the street. He contemplates whether going along with Rachel for dinner was such a bad idea to begin with.

Heh.

He spews hard again and again, and he crashes. Barely missing bathing from his own vomit, he falls face first on the sidewalk, his teeth chattering. "Uuuuhhhhhhh." He knows he doesn't have much energy to get up so he stays there, listening to the neighborhood dogs barking at each other, the melody of the carolers a couple of blocks away, the unmistakeable mirth coming from the voice of a seven-year-old as he plays Twister with his cousins.

The cold seeps through his winter clothing, but he decides he doesn't give a damn, and he _won't_ give a damn _so help me god I will stay in this fucking position until my dying breath and I'll –_

"Well, isn't this a lovely Christmas to us all."

Percy deliberately closes his eyes. "Shut up. I'm dying."

"No shit."

"You have too good a timing. Dare called you?"

"I swear to the heavens you're going to be a great detective someday. Or a comedian, 'coz we all know America lacks a couple of charming, humorous bastards."

"So I've been told," Percy responds dryly.

"I'm going to take pictures, you know."

He doesn't respond.

"Hey," Grover squats down, giving Percy a full view of his best friend's goatee. Percy swears to himself that he must have drunk too much liquor for Grover's eyes seem a little hysterical. "You okay?"

Percy shoots him a look. "Hey, there's a protocol that needs to be followed here, Jack-ass-son. You should know this; your mother's a doctor," Grover tells him.

The black-haired boy tries to sit up, instantly failing as he does. His head meets the cement with a thud. "Ugh," Percy moans. He fondles his scalp. "I'm in a helluva trouble."

Grover's eyes turn more hysterical as he said this, Percy notes. "You." Grover takes his arm gently and nudges him upward. His clothes are clinging on the sidewalk, restricting the movement. The bearded man puts on a little force with much momentum as he can and succeeds from removing Percy from his current position. He takes Percy by the arm and sighs. "Need to stop making a fool of yourself."

"My professor just told me that I'll be delayed. Am I not entitled to go and make a ruckus for once?"

"Totally your fault," Grover mumbles.

Percy grumbles heatedly and attempts to remove his sling from Grover's shoulders. He limps away, trying to decipher the blur of street signs.

"Hey, hey, hey! Are you stupid or are you just freakin' suicidal?" Grover shouts.

"You and Rachel need to stop." Percy turns to the skies, not wanting to see censure in his companion's face. "I'm serious. I'm fine."

"You just told me you'll be delayed for another year." Grover eyes him warily. "That's way beyond the definition of fine."

Percy almost laughs. "I got it. Yeah, yeah, I got it. But you see, Grover, you guys are the one who don't understand." He is slurring his words. It takes him sixty seconds to say the sentences with as much coherence he can muster.

A spike of cold wind blasts the two of them, and at that Grover takes Percy's arm again. "God almighty." He wrinkles his nose. "You smell like week-old fish sticks, man. Damn. I'll drive you home."

The rumble on his shoulders makes Grover turn to his companion. Percy is chuckling to himself.

~0~

Being a constant visitor of the Jackson apartment ever since it was rented has some perks, half-carrying, half-dragging a drunken twenty-year-old without entering the wrong room and perpetually destroying a few valuables the obvious first in the list. Grover again reminds himself – of course – of the finer points in life.

"This has got to be the eleventh time," he tells him good-naturedly. Grover kicks the door to the apartment loudly, and takes in the stale smell of caffeine emanating from the furnished walls. It is a relatively small apartment. With Percy's outrageous college fees and his mom's obsession with shoes, housekeeping magazines, and fine dining, not to mention the mortgage they are still paying for their house back in Chicago, they can hardly afford anything bigger or homey, not that anyone complained. The Jacksons moved from Chicago to New Jersey for Percy's education, Sally's job, and for the absolute un-involvement of Percy's evil father in their lives.

But ever since Paul Blofis came in the picture, Percy lives alone.

Percy smiles a small smile. "I'm surprised you're counting."

"Heh. Got to keep track of the favors you owe me. I'm telling you now, Percy boy. You are in for twenty years of slavery on my behalf if this goes on."

"Just keep counting." The springs on the bedding squeak as his body hits the mattress. A little moan escapes from Percy's mouth. The headache is killing him slowly.

"Are you going to puke again?" There is a hint of teasing glee in Grover's rusty voice. "I'm going to get the bucket now."

"No, no," Percy moans and closes his eyes. He puts his arm on his forehead, hoping the added weight will bore away the pain. He mentally dreads the hangover to come. "I think I got it."

Grover fights a chuckle.

"You're pretty strong for a scrawny cripple," Percy offhandedly comments. "I guess you have your moments."

Grover promptly sobers. "What is it that we don't understand, Percy? Tell us. _Tell_ me."

He watches as Percy opens an eye. "Did Rachel ever tell you that I quote tend to fall in love with things that don't make sense unquote?"

Grover ignores him. "Look, MF. I'm not leaving this rathole until you tell me what's goin' on. It's completely fair, or am I wrong?"

"Sounds reasonable."

"See, was that so bad?"

"You tell me."

"Enough of this snark-off, Perce. You tell me what's made you effed up, and I will personally decree my and Rachel's restraining order _if_ – "

"I thought we're done with conditionals."

" – It is completely within reason. We are men – grown men. We invented airplanes and spaceships and internet and porn to satiate our longings, and in a very, _very_ efficient way. Now, we can take this the easy, efficient way, or we can always take the long, hard way, which is you being issued an injunction. How does that sound?"

Percy laughs without humor. "You've been hanging around too much with Rachel."

"It's a win/win situation if you ask me." Grover shrugs. "I'll go turn on the heater, dude, so ponder on where you should start."

Percy rolls on his side as Grover leaves, licking his lips. His throat is sore and he is hyper aware that he smells so bad that he's sure his mother's precious plants will die from the reek. He shuts his mind from the present and leaves the door ajar for the previous months' happenings to come smite him.

He makes sure he has his emotions tucked in carefully before he starts.

~0~

The sunlight coming from his window slowly blasts him out of his slumber. It is ten in the morning, though he could have sworn it was earlier, but his phone proves him otherwise. It also says it is Christmas. Percy texts his mom and Paul a Happy Christmas and no, sorry I can't visit you today just because and hope you like the present I bought you (it's in your dresser). Grover too, but decides not to greet Rachel. He vaguely remembers the night before, but he can figure enough. Ergo the not-greeting.

Staring at his phone's screen for ten minutes gives him another wave of nausea, so he claims the space in front of the toilet and throws up until nothing in his stomach is left. It rankles him, the smell of his bile. He pulls down the lever and watches his bile swirl away as it flushes, idly wondering which part of the sewer will be blessed by his puke. Percy leans his head on the toilet seat and sighs. Some Christmas he's having.

The phone on his pocket vibrates.

He starts to take off his shirt and baskets it in the hamper along with his other dirty apparel. He dares to peer on his phone. "Meet me downtown. Burger King's waiting for you," Percy reads Grover's message aloud, mumbling. "Huh. Guess that's all the greeting I'm going to get."

It takes him eight minutes to leave his sanctuary and shower, ignoring the dull throb on his temples. He puts on deodorant, a clean, gray shirt and black, corduroy pants. He figures a check-up on the mirror won't hurt and grimaces at the image on the mirror. The image grimaces back. He is as pale as the walls of Clark Kennedy General, and shuns away the memories that came with the discerning.

He steps out of his apartment and locks the door. The doorknob is cold and hard and unfeeling. He realizes that he has not replied to Grover's message yet, fishes out his phone and types away.

He goes to his rental car. He drives.

Percy parks not so neatly along with a hatchback on the side, his frown deepening as he notices a familiar mop of red hair sitting next to Grover. He pushes the glass door open and stands at the side on the place Rachel and Grover are sitting. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I never kid."

"Last time I checked, I'm still mad at you," Percy intones lightly, which makes a good contrast with the expression he is wearing.

She snorts delicately while Percy takes the empty seat. "Real mature, Jackson. I'm not the one talking to spirits here and there."

Percy's eyes flash, swerving at Grover who is trembling almost imperceptibly. "You told _her_?" he bellows. "_Jeez_, Underwood. I thought we had the confidentiality thing under control. Some friend you are."

It is Rachel's turn to spit fire. "So I'm not _your_ friend? Very sweet of you, Percy."

"He asked nicely. You didn't."

"So I'm at fault now?"

"Guys," Grover cuts in. "Let's be real here. This is a situation – "

"Well, here's the million dollar question: do you guys believe me?" Percy asks, point blank.

The hesitant look in both his friends' faces is enough an answer. Percy scoots away and leaves, only to be stopped by Rachel's grip cutting on his wrist. "Hey, Grover's right," Rachel says quietly, controlled. "Look, we have to talk more about this, alright? Just hear us out."

The beating drums from his heart seem to have risen to his brain. Percy rubs his temples and sits down again, breathing heavily. The employees and the customers are giving them the eye right now. "Go ahead," he exhales. "Shoot."

"We – Grover and I – are currently at the stage where we process what you have said last night," she begins slowly.

"Right."

"And you're saying you had been talking to Annabeth Chase's spirit when she plunged to a deeper coma after your birthday and had been basically helping her fight all the way. Right?"

"Right."

"And in the process, you'd fallen in love with her, and now that she's awake and does not have an inkling about your misadventures together, you are – "

"The love part purely did not come from this mouth," Percy interjects, frowning. "Look, do you believe me or not?"

"You tell me," Grover says dryly. "And yeah, I do believe you, man." Percy never lied to him, ever. Why would he start now?

"Hey, I just had two hours to take this all in in contrast with Mr. Goatee here. Lift the blame from me, Jackson," Rachel counters.

Percy watches the two of them back and forth. He squints his eyes suspiciously. "Told mom? Paul?"

Rachel's "No, not a chance" and Grover's "Hell no" whirl in chorus.

He shakes his head in silent amusement. Wrong move. The queasiness hits him again and he struggles to keep the small bacon sandwich he had as breakfast inside him. "You guys are nuts."

Rachel arches up an eyebrow. She seriously fails to see why she fell in love with this slightly tall, dark-haired, green-eyed boy in front of him, especially now that said boy has gone completely manic. She lets herself go back to last night, when she puts Percy off by making him aware of his predilection to 'things that don't make any sense'._ That makes two of us,_ she thinks matter-of-factly.

"We – Rachel and I – also have decided to make the best out of this." Grover breaks the silence, mimicking her tone. The smaller guy pulls out a torn sheet of grid paper from his front pocket and passes it across table.

Percy eyes the sheet with doubt. "619 Thorn St., 73 – wait, what is this?"

"And I thought I was dumb. That, buddy, is Annabeth Chase's new address. Her father decided to move her here for the time being so that she'll be close to your mother, who's still overseeing her treatment," Grover replies and continues with a hint of smugness when Percy's face lights up. "Have you ever tried wooing the girl the _right way_, man?"

"How did you get this?" Every note is colored with disbelief. The small thing suddenly feels like a slab of marble in Percy's hands.

Grover laughs out loud, tossing his head upwards. The collection of stringy hair beneath his chin splays in a disorganized fashion. "You've got to give me some credit, man. How d'you think I got me some Juniper?"

Percy manages to crack a smile. "You know, this is better than your last Christmas gift. Way, way better."

Rachel nods in agreement. "The lingerie catalog was over the top, Grover, and I'm all for it."

They take a helping of cheeseburgers, the air suddenly growing serious. "Hey." Grover gulps. "Promise me you won't jump on her."

It takes two seconds before Percy realizes he was talking about a certain blonde. "Oh. Yeah, yeah. I promise I won't."

"It's been more than two months, but I'm thinking she's still ill," Rachel concurs stiffly. "Pain ebbs away, but it's nothing but slow. You have to give her a chance."

"I know," he says softly.

"You do?" Rachel inquires just as soft, her heart constricting at the sight of Percy's face falling. Damn her, she loves the man, and an irrational part of her hates that girl, that blasted Annabeth Chase for what she did to him, albeit unknowingly. Grover seems to share the sentiment, although not as fervently as she does.

A glint in his eyes says "Yes, I do" as he looks up at both of them, and he smiles shyly. "Uhh, thanks. For everything. For putting up with me."

"Aww. Lighten up, sourpatch," Grover smirks heartily and pats Percy's arm with much difficulty. He takes a singular sip of coke and continues. "Just stop being such a total dick. By that I mean you have to let us in. The whole ignoring's getting pretty old, in my book."

"Hmm. Being ignored by me seems to take a toll on you guys," Percy joked. "I won't. Scout's honor." He stares somewhat strangely at the paper again before he puts it in his wallet. "This is unbelievable."

"Seriously? You're going to lecture us on what's believable?" Rachel giggles.

"You've got a point. I owe you, guys, big time."

"Now he gets it," she says, still sardonic. "Merry Christmas, Percy Jackson."

His laugh stops short and he eyes the two steadily. He mentally double-checks whether or not they're playing the guilt trip card and smacks himself instantly for the thought. The pit on his stomach clearly displays with neon lights how he doesn't deserve such friends, regretting how he had purposefully barred their calls and e-mails which contained asking how he was doing. He wonders whether things will be back to normal after this. "Merry Christmas, Rachel. You too, Grover."

~0~

His wristwatch indicates it is already two in the afternoon when he arrives on Annabeth Chase's house's front. He thought that he had the entire New Jersey memorized, but Percy Jackson is never known for being calculating. So there he was, two and a half hours earlier, looking for Interstate 95, taking the wrong turn at James St., ending up with a quick but nasty squabble with a sixty-year-old man with thick, black-rimmed glasses about snow, oranges, and parking spaces.

The bush thickets are covered in a soft sprinkle of snow. It reminds him of cupcakes his mother used to make him and of smooth autumn nights. His eyes are momentarily dazed by the headlights coming from the next door car. Annabeth's neighbor catches his eye and she greets him a willful "Merry Christmas!". He nods in response as he watches her leave. Looking at the rear-view mirror, he lets out a low whistle. "Here goes nothing."

The trip to the slick stairs seems endless as he saunters to ring the doorbell. "Coming!" says a voice from the other side of the door, and he wonders whether the chimes he heard came from the doorbell or the voice.

He does not realize that he was holding his breath until the door opens.

She must have gotten a haircut recently, but the way her hair waves past her shoulders he can recall with perfect clarity. Her skin is paler, however, and more papery than he remembered. The bags under her eyes mean she has not been sleeping well more than he has, and the way her stormy gray eyes meet his sea green ones clearly avows that she recognizes him, and he isn't welcome.

He finds her utterly attractive despite himself.

Her eyes narrow a little, and he decides that attractive doesn't quite cut it. "You don't have anything with you or on you, and you are dressed too casually, so I'm guessing this is nothing but a personal visit. Not a medical agendum from your mom, I presume."

_Damn_, he thinks. He doesn't hear a question in any syllable she spoke. She's intelligent and she knows it. Confident. He gives himself a mental kick and shove to start-up his brain. "Uh, hi."

The look on Annabeth's face urges him to continue. "Uhh, yeah. So I guess you remember me. Right." His fingers dig in his front pockets; he desperately hopes that his hands will stay intact despite the cold. "Um, can I come in? It's so cold and I've been driving for almost three hours and I can hear my whole body rallying."

He can almost see the gears in her head turning as she tentatively opens the door with enough berth for him to enter. He leaves his snow-crusted shoes at the doorway and slips on a pair of slippers she offered him, doing a stealthy once-over on Annabeth's small living room. The house gives off an eerie feel, and the walls smell suspiciously of corned beef. All of the furniture is embellished with swirl-like carvings. An enormous green carpet bristles against Percy's slippers. He notices a slouch in Annabeth's posture as soon as she brings him tea (and is surprised that he did not notice Annabeth leave for the kitchen). Uneasy.

She places the tray onto the wooden table between them and urges him to sit across her. She offers him tea. "So, Mr. Jackson." She pulls back a stray hair from her face and licks her lips. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

He flinches. He hates that she's being formal with him. "Um, about that time – "

"I'm sorry." Her voice is cold and hard like the weather outside. "I truly am, but I do not know you. I do not remember you at all, nor do I recall being friends with you. You are my caretaker's son. Aside from that, you're a stranger to me."

Percy's jaw clenches. "Oh no, you didn't. You didn't just call my mother a caretaker, did you?"

"Would you like more complex terms, Mr. Jackson?" Annabeth's smile is sweetly disarming.

She is goading her to leave, Percy knows, and in a way he understands. The first and last time they met, he was pressing her to remember their banter, their confessions, the trip to New York, and it scared the crap out of Annabeth. The fire of hope in his eyes were extinguished as soon as Annabeth looked at him in confusion, and the devastation cracked his shell so much he wasn't the same ever since he left Clark Kennedy.

_Screw this. I'm sorry, Grover_, Percy thinks acidly. "You didn't get the job, right?"

And then he sees it. Subtle, but Annabeth's eyes shift from shock to aloofness. "What are you talking about?" she questions, her voice strong.

"The internship for the editorial spot. Tadeny got it, didn't she?"

Annabeth no longer hides her surprise. "You know Leila? What are you, a full-blown stalker? Are you snooping around without my permission?"

"Asking for permission totally defeats the purpose of stalking. And to answer your first question, no. I am not stalking you," he admissions quickly when Annabeth opened her mouth to speak.

She takes in a deep breath and tells him, "Listen here, Mr. Jackson – "

"Call me, Percy."

"Whatever! Mr. Percy Jackson, I appreciate your concern, but this is _my_ life you are interfering with. This is – "

"For god sake, Annabeth! Can you tell that I am not lying to you, and have not been from the start?" He catches a downright frenzy in his voice, struggling to keep himself from shouting. The drive might have made his patience thin. "Leila Tadeny got the job because you made me write a fucking letter of recommendation for her instead. You were – "

"I would never do such a thing!" Annabeth exclaims, outraged. "I wanted that job so much and dear god, I hated the woman to bits."

"Would you please let me finish?" Percy cuts her short, and notes that her cheeks have a pinkish tint, her eyes flashing wildly. His stupid heart makes a quick flip and finds himself turned on by Annabeth's anger.

He is fascinated by how disgustingly perverted he's turning into around this girl.

"Believe it or not, we've met, although in unconventional circumstances. I know all about your internship and Leila, your creative writing thing, your 'not-giving-a-shit-towards-other-people-with-a-few -exceptions'. I know you eat a lot of ramen, and that you love Faulkner and Matt Damon. You have a good collection of party invites that you've never even considered going to inside your bedside drawer, and if you're going to ask, no. I did not ransack your house, Annabeth. At least not without you. I _know_ you, Annabeth. Believe me, I do. Only for a short amount of time, I know – and you have no idea how frustrated I am with that – but it meant a lot to _me_. You have to give me a chance, Annabeth. Because I know you remember me, you can. You do. You can't possibly be losing sleep otherwise. And if you're having a hard time remembering everything, I am more than happy to offer my assistance and give your neurons a twist."

She is silent for a while. They both hear the distinctive sound of a clock ticking. "You have a bloated sense of self-worth. Did anyone tell you that?" she admonishes, her voice weak this time.

"Not really, no." Percy grins dryly. "Just a determined guy who'll do anything to get and achieve what he wants."

Annabeth scowls. "If there's anything I hate, it's objectification. I am not some toy you can just claim, nor can you just invade my house and tell me what I should or shouldn't remember. I am my own person, Mr. Jackson. You can't shape me to fit in this fantasy of yours."

"In retrospect, you let me in your house and even offered me this nice cup of tea." He holds up the crystalline object for emphasis.

At that the blonde stops altogether. Percy was not aware of their faces so dangerously close to each other until she leans back and makes a disgruntled noise at the back of her throat. She bites her lip and brings up a forced smile as she turns to him. "I think it's time for you to leave."

Percy blinks.

She smiles again, more naturally this time. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson. Uh, yes. Percy." She dusts herself as she stands and leads him towards the door. Percy has no choice but to follow like a child called for a time-out.

Annabeth opens the door for him without a sound, and when his green orbs finally meet hers, he sees something that paralyzes every bit of his senses.

"Happy holidays," she tells him as she gently closes the door, those two words bearing a tone fit for a funeral.

And Percy stands agape, unsure of what really happened, heads for the car, hides his face in both of his hands, drives away.

_Hurt_.

~0~

Percy cautiously places an ice pack on his toes, absolutely sore from kicking his door frames. His voluminous and colorful swearing earlier alerted the other residents of the apartelle within a twenty-feet radius – "Keep your misery to yourself, asshole. Have a fucking merry day" – and instead resorted to injuring himself to get a sense of butt-biting reality again. He called himself an idiot one more time before reclining to the kitchen for a fix for his aching feet.

He wasn't supposed to war on her. Damn, he was supposed to _console_ her. _The lady just woke up from a coma, genius. Things weren't going as she planned; have you ever thought of that?_

It is useless for him to chide himself, he decides. It is too late. He knows he should have stuck to the plan: go to her house, excuse himself for being such an airhead, start over. Woo her properly. _It was a foolproof plan_, he gripes to himself. _You had to go Air America on her, hadn't you?_

He awkwardly imagines himself wooing Annabeth. The flowers, the candy, the whole nine yards.

He refutes himself again, thinking how he could never stand being with her while he recalls every, single moment they've had since he entered her white, sterile room, and she can't. Or won't. It will be like having an inside joke with the air. Oblivious and uncaring.

And this time he starts planning whether to pursue plan A, to start over again. He then snorts with dark humor, thinking that he's expecting too much from her, asking too much for her kindness and consideration. He slams hard on the couch, welcoming the pain on his spine.

For the first time, he thinks about his mom. Pondering how her Christmas has been, and how both of their Christmases will be different from now on, now that Paul is with her. His face goes aflame, ashamed. It _is_ Christmas. He should have been thinking about his family. He should have visited them.

He calls himself an idiot one more time before his eyes seal itself shut.

~0~

At the third set of knocks, Percy wakes up.

He grudgingly leaves the sofa – one body part at a time, no rush – and glances fleetingly at the small wall clock above. 9 o'clock. He peers at the windows. It is dark outside.

The knocker sounds impatient this time, the raps getting louder and plenty. Absent-mindedly scratching his neck, he opens the door. It is cold.

The hallway lights outside hit him, blinding him momentarily.

"Oh! I'm so sorry." Annabeth's voice sounds extremely apologetic and sheepish. "Were you sleeping? Uhh, I was in the neighborhood so I, er – "

"You live at least a couple of miles away from me," Percy retorts, still dumbfounded. "What are you doing here? How did you know I'm here?"

Annabeth practically shoves him a medium-sized box. Cagily, Percy opens the package. Both of his eyebrows shoot upward as he takes in the sight of a small, homemade cake swathed with different hues of blue icing. He takes notice that it was hastily made and clears his throat. "Blue, huh? I thought the color of the day should be mint green and fiery red."

She rolls her eyes. "It's _your_ color. And sorry, I'm not recognized for my culinary skills."

Percy fidgets nervously. "Uhh, what made you change your mind?"

"Silena and Beckendorf."

He begins to like her new matter-of-fact attitude, along with the familiar cynicism. "That's nice."

"Listen here, Seaweed Brain. You have exactly one hour to tell me everything. Enlighten me."

He smiles. She remembers.

_**~Fin (nouveau)~**_


End file.
